My Master's Word
by CeriDouglas
Summary: When Prince Arthur goes to collect tribute from a vassal and visit his cousin, he doesn't expect to pick up a slave or find out that his aunt is a witch. Pushed beyond his father's ideals, Arthur has to choose between the laws he was trained to uphold and what he knows to be right. Slave!Merlin. Young Merlin & Arthur. Whump included. Rated M for mature themes. No Slash.
1. Chapter 1

**_This was originally posted as a Squire's Tales/Merlin crossover. We'll see BBC Merlin and Arthur beside Gerald Morris's Gawain and Terence. Other characters come from both series or are original._**

 ** _Rated M for violence, fantasy and medieval warfare, and sexual abuse (from the baddies. No dark!good guys here)._**

 ** _You can find me (and the characters) on Pinterest at missceridouglas. Boards are divvied up by chapter sets to be spoiler-safe._**

* * *

Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot, sat straight-backed and proud on his horse. The glittering mail and flowing red capes he and his attending knights wore bore magnificent contrast to the filthy warlord waiting for him. Sir Leon's squire, Norris, took his horse's bridle, and Prince Arthur dismounted, ignoring the warlord's condescending sneer. He was sixteen and beardless, granted, but he was not a child, and he would not permit this dirty glorified bandit to manipulate him.

"Your father, boy, he ask too much this time." The warlord glared at Arthur from somewhere beneath his wild and leaf-pricked beard and brows. "We agree two hundred gold pieces."

"You agreed to three hundred, Ulf," Arthur replied coolly.

"You lie."

"I am on my way to visit the court of my uncle King Lot, who witnessed our agreement. You may ask him, if you please. I am certain he will confirm the amount."

"I no ask confirm! Two hundred."

"Very well. Sir Leon, we shall journey to King Lot at once and consult with him. Ulf, choose one of your men to travel with us and act as witness."

Arthur kept his stance light and easy, and turned towards his horse, keeping an eye on Ulf. The warlord trailed his fingers over his sword, glancing between the knights, and finally spat to the side, grumbling. Arthur mounted, and took the reins from Norris. Ulf kept this woebegotten piece of forest on the border, long ago a small kingdom ruled by some one or another of his ancestors, by paying tribute to his more powerful neighbor of Camelot. He was insolent and backwards, but he would not risk open war.

"Wait." Pure hatred shone out of Ulf's eyes. "We pay. Two hundred and fifty."

"Perhaps you would like to come with us yourself?" Arthur asked. "We will ready a horse for you."

"You cheat."

"If you were concerned with the amount, you should have discussed it during the treaty signing. Or with any of my father's emissaries who collected the tribute for the last ten years. It is my understanding that three hundred pieces of gold was agreed upon by both parties, and has not been contested since."

Ulf's mouth worked, and he shifted his weight from foot to foot, trying to stare Arthur down. The young man returned his gaze steadily, then regally broke eye contact to turn his horse away.

"Prince."

Arthur paused.

"We give three hundred gold tribute."

Arthur eased the horse back around, seeing the defeated rage on the warlord's face. "Thank you."

"We have two hundred gold. I pay one hundred more goods value."

"That is agreeable." Arthur did not dare to spare a look at Leon for guidance as he dismounted, but the knight nodded deeply enough to catch the corner of Arthur's glance, and he knew the decision was sound.

Three pouches of gold thumped to the ground at Arthur's feet, and Leon counted them. Ulf's men stretched a huge bearskin on the ground for the two leaders to sit on, and the haggling began. Ulf and Arthur argued over the value of every item tossed between them. Weapons and trinkets, broken jewelry and hides, and the hate left Ulf's face, replaced by sullen respect. Arthur would not be cheated, but neither would he cheat. The war band clearly did not not come expecting to pay all three hundred gold pieces, and there was a good deal of muttering as personal valuables were sacrificed to make tribute.

The value of two gold pieces short, Ulf snapped his fingers at one of his warriors and said in a resigned sort of way, "You. Bring gremlin."

The man's face fell, and he shambled away in the direction of their camp. Ulf called a sharp word after him that Arthur did not recognize, and the warrior called back, grumbling.

"How much slave worth?" Ulf asked.

Ice stuck in Arthur's heart. Camelot had slaves, but the idea of owning another person grated on Arthur the wrong way, and he had none for himself. "Depends on the slave," the prince replied neutrally.

"Him good. Small, but obey always and ever so want to please master. Know horse. Know cooking. Know the cloth-sewing. Bring to sleeping mat, prince, and you like _very_ much. Him do however please master. Never fight, never run. I say to him, 'You belong prince,' and he will kiss feet of you every morning, every night, and belong you always."

Arthur swallowed bile, once, again when the warrior came into sight with a sad creature meek on a leash behind him. The boy was skin and bones, covered in grime and bruises. Matted hair hung down below his shoulders and across his face, so filthy Arthur could discern no color in it except mud and twigs. He wore nothing but a dirty strip of cloth wrapped many times around his hips and upper thighs and a rusty metal collar with a leather leash clipped to it.

This much Arthur saw as he approached, and the boy flung himself prostrate before the prince could catch a glimpse of his face.

"Him worth two gold?"

Arthur stared at the boy's back, crisscrossed with the scars of his beatings, the spine protruding in one long, lumping ridge. He would not sell for five silver pennies, dirty and starved as he was, and Arthur could not leave him.

"He is filthy, starved, and I cannot see how he is still walking," Arthur said. "For the body, I would pay four silver pennies."

Ulf gave a cry of outrage and started up. Arthur held up a finger.

"I am not finished. For his life, Ulf, for the life of a person, I will value him at ten gold pieces."

He was haggling up, he knew, but he was angry. He reached into the jumbled heap before them and pulled out the personal effects that had been parted with most dearly, putting them in a pile to the side. Ulf stared at him, then heaved the boy up by his leash. The boy stayed tucked in on himself, head bent, face veiled by mangy hair. Ulf grabbed his face and wrenched it around to look at Arthur.

"You belong prince now."

Arthur met fearful blue eyes as he slowly stood from the bearskin. Ulf threw the boy down on his feet, shoving the dirty head against the ground with a boot.

"You belong prince."

Thin fingers curled around Arthur's ankles. "Belong prince," the boy whispered. "Long?"

"Belong prince," Ulf said again. "Stay, you."

The boy peeked up away from the ground to look at Ulf. "Master call?"

"Master prince." Ulf pointed at Arthur. "You belong him."

A glance of mixed hope and fear, and the boy's face went down against his boots again. "Stays."

Ulf gathered his war band, and they vanished into the trees, leaving a vague stench of filth and alcohol behind them. The boy did not move until the sounds of Ulf and his men had faded, then he rose to his knees, clutching at Arthur's legs. He rambled in a language the prince did not understand, sobbing, pleading, finally lifting clasped hands in desperate supplication.

"I don't understand you," Arthur admitted helplessly.

The boy sagged at the response, then gently pressed his head against Arthur's knees. "P-rin-sss master. Long, long stays. Obeys long, long." He looked up again, fawning absently at Arthur's leg. "Master pleased?"

Arthur was anything but pleased, but he cautiously patted the boy's mangy head. "Yes."

"Him master?" The boy pointed at Leon, then each of the others in turn. He had to repeat the question a few times before Arthur finally gathered from his gestures that he was inquiring if he was considered the property of the collective group.

"No." Arthur shook his head. "You're just mine."

The following smile broke Arthur's heart with its relief and happiness. He wrapped the leash around his hand and mounted, leading the boy back to camp with them in silence. Norris stayed well on the other side of the group, clearly disturbed - the slave was close to his age, a bit younger than Arthur, though stunted by hardship.

"Leon?" he asked.

"You did right, my lord. Keep the boy."

"I don't want a slave." Arthur looked down at where the boy walked close to his stirrup, bare feet stumbling on the rough trail.

"You have one." That was Leon, always the facts as they were, stated and accepted without worry. "You can do him good."

He could at least wash him, Arthur thought. Unique among many healers, their court physician insisted that filth bore disease, and regular cleaning of body and clothes and habitation would reduce infection. He was scoffed at, until time proved him right, and Arthur could not bear to go without bathing for long anymore, though visitors thought the people of Camelot curious for it.

At their camp, Norris cared for the horses while Leon took his knife to the boy's wild hair. The knight cut the matted locks free and trimmed the hair to a rough but respectable cut. Crawling with lice and fleas, no doubt, Arthur thought. Retrieving a cake of tough lye soap, a brush, and a blanket from the packhorse, he gestured for the boy to follow him to the nearby stream.

It took no coaxing at all for the boy to abandon his single dirty loin-wrap, but removing the rusty collar turned him frantic, and the terrified slave descended into his own tongue again, shouting, pleading, trying to push Arthur's fingers away until the prince spoke sternly and wilted him to the ground in an unresistant huddle. The boy rubbed his head against the ground, then pawed his way closer to lick Arthur's boots.

"No." Arthur stepped out of reach, and the slave cowered, whimpering. "Get in the water."

The boy crawled into the stream and submerged himself up to the ears, eyes screwed shut and leaking tears as if bearing punishment. Gestures and the words 'wash' and 'clean' were to no avail. He stared at the soap without understanding.

The prince resigned himself, pulled off boots and shirt, and joined the boy in the chilly water. When he reached for an arm, the boy gave him both wrists, and Arthur started scrubbing, soap and brush and several dunkings suffered meekly. The part of the work he thought would become awkward passed in a heartbeat, distracted as he was by the battered condition of the boy's skin. He was dark-haired and pale, with round blue eyes too big for his angled face. Near all his bones showed their shape and corners in an already slim body. Every inch of his skin was marked and bruised, save the face, which bore a single small scar across the cheek, as if from a ring cutting during a blow. By the time Arthur picked through his dripping hair to check for lice and nits, the boy realized he was being cared for, not punished. He nudged at Arthur with servile affection and kissed the prince's hands if they came close enough.

The smell of food drifted towards them from the camp where the fire glimmered out in the lengthening shadows, and Leon came to the bank, fabric over his arm. The boy sloshed out to the bank, stark naked and unconcerned with it. Arthur removed his wet clothing a little more awkwardly and dried off with a blanket. The boy imitated his motions and dried himself, shivering a little while Arthur changed into the dry clothes the knight had brought.

"These should do him." Leon held up some spare clothing apparently requisitioned from the knights.

The boy could barely dress himself. He tried to put the pants on his arms, then over his head, before Arthur guided his legs through. The cuffs trailed on the ground, and Leon knelt to roll them up without a word. Arthur got the tunic on the boy, and sleeves on that had to be rolled too, the laces at the neck tied tightly so it would not fall off narrow shoulders. A length of leather tied twice around the waist held everything in, and the boy stared down at himself with amazement before flinging his arms around Arthur's knees in gratitude.

"One more thing."

Arthur stared at the modified belt in Leon's hand, cut off short and pierced through with new holes. "No."

"He will be happier with it."

"No." But he took the collar out of Leon's hands and drew the boy's attention to it. Instead of the disgust he felt, Arthur saw eagerness, a shining joy in the boy's eyes before he dropped his head and offered his neck. The leather was soft, and would not chafe as the rusty iron had. Arthur buckled it with careful concern for throat and breathing. His hands and feet were thoroughly kissed for his trouble, and he returned to the fireside blushed red, new servant behind him.

Norris crouched over the stewpot, scooping out portions and passing them around. He came to the boy last, who shrank back from the offered bowl, casting a look up at Arthur. The prince gestured for him to take it, and the boy cautiously complied, ignoring the spoon, wrapping arms and knees around the bowl, and scooping up the meal with his fingers and tongue.

Disgusted, Arthur stopped him with a hand on his wrist. The boy froze and started to hand the bowl back. Arthur shook his head and pressed the bowl to him, picking up the spoon and gesturing with it.

"You eat with it," he explained, demonstrating with his own stew.

Blue eyes watched him studiously, shaky fingers imitated his grip on the handle, and the boy clumsily scooped up a bite and crammed it into his mouth before it spilled. The knights watched in silent amazement as the boy learned the utensil. Ywain cursed under his breath. "No tribute is worth letting Ulf's bastards keep that piece of dirt. We should attack, my lord prince."

"Not without leave from the king. And he will have my report. In full."

Ywain subsided, and Arthur ducked back over his stew, waiting for darkness when he would not have to hide his exhaustion. Not even to Orkney Hall yet, and already this mission pressed new responsibilities on him. Next to him, the boy licked his bowl clean and joined Norris at the fire, communicating with gestures that he would do the washing. Considering the boy's experience with cleaning himself, Norris split the washing with him, but he turned out to be effective at it, and scrubbed all the dishes and the pot to shining with sand.

Worn out by even this small exercise, the boy flopped down by Arthur's feet, alert even in rest. The five knights split the watch, with assurances that Arthur would take his turn tomorrow, and they lay out their bedrolls.

* * *

The chill of autumn crept in when the sun went down, and the boy already shivered in the wind, with nothing extra to hold his warmth in him. The food was good in his belly, and filled it up with warmth, even eaten with the strange stick. He had seen it before, with Hairy Masters and before and very very long ago with Mother, but could not remember what anyone called it. Mother-memories were dark and like dreams.

Master had washed him like a pot, and he was clean like the pot out of the stream. His hair was not snug on his neck anymore, but neither did he itch. He must learn to wash himself like the pot, since Master was pleased to see him clean, and he was glad Master was pleased to see him wearing clothes too. He bit his lip. The clothes must also be washed like the pot, and he hoped he might have someone show him how before he made a mistake and needed punishing. His new collar was kind on his neck, and he had to touch it sometimes to feel it there.

These men were strange, and their armor shone, and they did not smell the same as others he had been with. He liked their faces, too, and the face of the other boy, who was a servant-not-servant. They ordered their watch, and Master spread his sleeping mat. The boy watched him, and memorized how it was done so he could take the task himself. Master had been gentle so far, and the boy hoped he would be given a horse blanket to huddle under for the night. Unless Master wanted him. He had cleaned his body, after all.

As he expected, he was to come to Master's sleeping mat. The golden-haired man-boy beckoned to him from where he lay, and the slave came quickly, slipping up next to him and feeling the blankets drape around his body. Master pulled him close to his warm beating heart, and the boy pressed against him, wound their legs easily, nuzzling and clutching at the loose clothes. They were always kinder if he offered himself to please them.

"No."

Master's voice was firm, but not angry. The boy let go and lay still, waiting to see what Master wanted. Quiet, then? He let the other move him and found, though he lay close and warm to his master, he was in no position he knew of to be used to please. Master's cheeks colored a little, and he spoke again, many words and firm and sometimes stammering. A few were 'No.' Then he folded his hands and put them under his head and pretended to snore quietly before pointing to the boy.

He obediently closed his eyes, and felt Master settle in to sleep next to him. Master was tired, and did not want him tonight. The boy's heart filled up with amazement and gratefulness that he was offered a warm place next to his master and beneath his blankets without having to serve his body. In the morning, when Master had had his rest, he would be ready, and would please him very much.

* * *

 ** _Notes on Currency and History_**

 ** _How Much Is a Merlin Worth?_**

 ** _The going price for gold at the moment is somewhere around $1,200 per ounce. Silver is $16 per ounce. I'm averaging one ounce as one piece._**

 ** _1 silver penny is 1/8 of an ounce, or about $2._**

 ** _Many scholars use loaves of bread to help visualize costs, since the value is virtually unchanged since ancient times. This gets a little absurd when you get into the hundreds of dollars, so, for visual help, I'm using two currency comparisons: diamond rings and potatoes._**

 ** _A good diamond ring goes for about $5,000._**

 ** _One potato sells for 33 cents._**

 ** _A silver penny would buy you 6 potatoes._**

 ** _At three hundred pieces of gold, Ulf's tribute is $360,000, or 72 diamond rings. (Think buying a nice house outright.) Ulf offers to sell Merlin for $2,400 - half a ring, or a couple of nice computers._**

 ** _Arthur counters that, in his abused and starved condition, Merlin is only worth $8: 24 potatoes. However, for a living person Arthur will pay $12,000 - over two diamond rings. (think walking onto a dealership and buying a really nice used car outright)._**

 ** _During the 4th and 5th Centuries in Rome, a male slave went for an average of 500 denarii, and some girls might cost up to 6,000 denarii. A denarii was a day's wage, and the conversion to USD is disputed. However, the average equivalent seems to be 1 denarius = $20 USD. So, if you wanted a slave, you would be paying anywhere between $10,000 to $120,000._**

 ** _Ulf offers Arthur a killer bargain - about 1/4 of what a male slave in Rome might go for. For Merlin's worth based on his physical condition, Arthur bargains up to the absurd. However, he buys him for about the price of the average male slave in Rome - a probably less than the going price, actually._**

 ** _History lesson: buying a slave in the ancient world would be equivalent to buying a very nice used car or a brand new car today. It makes the idea of selling yourself - or your kids - to pay off a large debt much more financially sensible. It also means that owning even one handsome, healthy, well-trained slave would be like owning a Corvette. And having several carrying you around on your palanquin? Talk about a status symbol._**


	2. Chapter 2

Master did not want him the next morning. The boy saw no disgust or displeasure, and there was no punishment, only more teaching. The man with curly blond hair and a stoic face showed him how to wash his face in the stream as the others did. The slave started the fire, and the other boy cooked while he readied the horses. The air nipped at him, but he was used to the cold and ignored it.

The pot on the fire steamed and smelled good, and like last night, he was given a bowl to eat with the others. He was careful to use the stick with the tiny bowl at the end to scoop the hot porridge, and when he was finished, he showed it to Master to ask the name. The young, strong face was confused for a long time, and then it cleared, and he said, "Spoon."

"Poon?" He tried the word for the bowl-stick.

"Sssp," said the curly knight. "Ssssp."

The boy tried the noise.

"Spoon," Master said again, voice clear.

He repeated it until it was good and Master was pleased. At the stream while they washed the pots, the other boy, with much shyness, put his hands on each dish and told him their names: _Pot. Bowl. Handle. Spoon._ And then, _Water. Sand. Leaf._ It was so many words he needed two hands to count them, and he hoped he would remember them all with everything else. When all was packed and the fire put out, the boy knelt by Master's horse and waited for travel-leashing.

Master tried to pull him up, but the boy stayed kneeling, recognizing the test. He would not make such a displeasing mistake so early and think so much of himself as to refuse his leash. The last time he had ducked the leash was a dark hole in his mind, full of fear. He waited to feel the tug on his neck and the cool touch of metal as Master clipped leash to collar. The leather strand shook, and he rose with his lead in his master's hand. Master mounted, and then a man was there, a dark-haired one with brown eyes, and he grabbed the boy and put him up behind Master's saddle.

The boy put his head down against his master's shoulder and trembled with fear. He was a slave, and slaves did not ride. He ought to walk. He was supposed to be walking even now. He made to slip off to his proper place, but Master seized his wrist and would not let him go.

"Stay," he commanded.

Confused, the boy stopped fighting and clung to his master's belt. Everything in him screamed that he ought to prostrate himself and beg forgiveness and walk as he ought to, but Master was pleased for him to ride, and he must please Master above all else.

Master must be very pleased, for he favored the boy with a whole piece of cheese with soft good bread, not stale, when they ate the noon meal in the saddle. His legs and backside ached from the long riding, but he was quiet. They left the land of the Hairy Master and camped for the night in the shelter of a great stone. By the time the horses stopped, the boy had learned all the names of the men: Ser Lon and Skyer Norse - who was not yet a ser, but would be - and Ser Wain and Ser Rince, and Ser Cadon and Ser Buborris. For ease, he could call all of them Ser, but the names stuck in his mind, which was not usual.

He slipped clumsily from the horse, letting the impact of his feet buckle his knees. It was a boon to be permitted to ride and not walk, and he kissed Master's feet to show his deep gratitude. Master took off the leash, and he sprang up, sore legs staggering him a bit, and took the horses. Skyer Norse worked with him, and the sers gathered the firewood while the boys tended the horses. The slave made the supper that night, and all were pleased, but Skyer Norse insisted on helping wash up. The boy did not understand why he would do chores when there was a slave there, but he could not refuse unless Master was displeased, and so said nothing. Not that Skyer Norse would understand him yet, even though he taught him yet another word: _Fire._

So very many things to remember, but he still recalled how to spread his master's sleeping mat properly, on good ground with no sharp rocks or sticks. He rubbed his belly absently, staring at the flickering fire. He had not been hungry so much as once this day. Three entire meals. The boy thought he must learn his master's words soon, to thank him for such a very great kindness. In the meantime, he decided, brightening when Master summoned him to share the sleeping mat again, he would let his master feel his gratitude.

Master did not use him. He was to sleep a second night, in his clothes, no less, with no chance to melt under his master's hands and body and please him the best he knew how. Many masters had frightened him, and he had prayed many nights to the gods - he was fairly sure there were gods - to not be touched, but a master so good and kind deserved something from his slave for thankfulness, and the boy had nothing to offer besides willing pleasure. But then, his body was so much thinner than the others, and perhaps it did not please Master's eye.

That must be the reason for so much food. Maybe, when his bones did not show, his master eyes would be very pleased, and then the rest of him. For now, Master used his own blankets and beating heart-blood to help his slave stay warm through the cold night, and the boy's heart filled up with amazement and thankfulness, and he dared to kiss the fingers of his sleeping master and duck his neck under his hands. To be full and warm and contented all at once was privilege beyond imagining, and he thanked what gods might be for it.

* * *

"Well trained, that one," Leon commented when he woke Arthur for his watch. "Someone took a good deal of time and trouble with him."

The prince slipped out of the bedroll without waking his slave and made sure he was warm before following Leon outside the sleeping circle.

"What? Breaking him?"

"He's not broken." Leon shook his head. "Bowed over, bent around someone else's will, but not quite broken. He's collar-trained like a hound - Ulf would have neither the time nor the patience for such practice - and I doubt any of that band taught him to cook or wash."

Arthur grunted. "How does he…compared to others you've seen?"

"He's responding well to kindness - that's good."

"Some…don't?"

"They distrust it. Him? Be good to that one, Arthur. He may recover himself, and even if he doesn't, he will be contented with his life."

"I don't want him, Leon. I can't own someone."

"That is why he should remain with you."

Arthur rousted out the camp the next morning, and the boy woke with the noise of the others, clouded with sleep for a moment, then wide-eyed when he realized where he was. He stared at the blankets of Arthur's bedroll wrapped snugly around him, and Arthur, still sitting on watch, and pure amazement consumed his expression. The boy got up and packed the bedroll carefully before coming over to Arthur and sliding to his knees between his feet, one hand resting gently on the prince's shin.

"What is it?" Arthur asked.

The boy started a few words, and shifted, flailing his hands a little and gripping at his hair before returning an earnest gaze to Arthur's face.

"Belong you." The boy put his hands on his chest to indicate himself. "Pleased."

A statement, when 'pleased' seemed to normally exist in the boy's limited vocabulary as a question.

"You're pleased?"

The boy nodded, a smile breaking across his face. "You master - belong you." He patted his chest. "Pleased-" he spread his arms to indicate a large amount before pressing his head against Arthur's knee.

His slave was happy to belong to him. Arthur's stomach turned even as his heart warmed.

"Master pleased?"

Was he as happy to own as the boy was to be owned? No. But that would be the wrong answer, so he said, "Yes. Very pleased."

"Very?"

"Yes. Very."

"Very?"

 _Oh._ "Very is-" he spread his arms out wide.

The boy took a moment to process this, then embraced Arthur's knees, slipping down to kiss his boots. The prince reached down to lift him up, and Leon stopped him with a quick hand and a low, "Let him." Arthur grimaced, but counted to ten before bending, finding the boy's chin, and lifting his head gently until he was on his feet.

This close, he caught the boy's shiver as the wind passed through the trees and ruffled the leaves and their clothes. Barefoot, wearing spare clothes far too big for him, and clearly needing extra warmth even now - Arthur flinched to think how the boy might be fairing back with Ulf, with only a loincloth between him and the elements. Their party was prepared for sudden changes in the weather, and Arthur led the boy to one of the packs, squatting to dig out a cloak from the depths. He nestled the boy in the warm brown wool and pinned the cloak firmly on his shoulder. They would reach Lot today, and do something about those bare feet then.

"Ready horses," he ordered, forestalling any more groveling.

The boy pressed Arthur's hand to his forehead and obeyed, casting amazed looks at the prince over his quick work with the horses and tack. Some of the stallions nipped at him, but the boy petted them all, and scratched their ears and crooned to them in his own language as he saddled and bridled them. Even the most high-spirited soon stood quiet as the boy made a final check and kissed their velvety noses. The kinder mares nuzzled him back, and Arthur jumped at the boy's clear laugh as he nudged heads with the overly-friendly pack horses, scolding them playfully with upraised finger.

It wouldn't do, Arthur decided as they ate, for him to ride into Lot's courtyard with a leashed slave beside him, but he also knew that the boy's severe training would not be undone all in a day. Norris threw dirt on the fire, the knights mounted, and the boy brought Arthur his leash and knelt to receive it. When it was secured, the prince led the boy over to the pack horses, loosely wrapping the leash through the saddle where the boy could pull free if he needed to, and passed him the lead reins for the short string of animals.

Amazement, then happiness, and the boy led the pack-string in the middle of the group as if on a sacred mission from God Almighty. Their pace was slower with one of them walking, but the party would reach Lot's castle well before sunset, so Arthur was not concerned.

Orkney Hall sat squat on a low hill, one great stone building around an ancient tower, courtyard shielded by a newer wall. Lot himself was not there, but Arthur grinned suddenly to see Prince Gawain standing on the steps with the household to greet him. The boy fitted well in his role, with red hair like fire and piercing blue eyes. His face was craggy but handsome. A tunic of blue velvet and silver belt showed a man's figure, not tall, but strong, slim in the hips, broad across the shoulders, and poised with warrior's grace.

"Cousin!"

The two young men clasped forearms in welcome before Gawain greeted the group at large and graciously commanded the servants to see to their housing. Arthur gave his cousin and brother-prince another spontaneous grin.

A confused noise, and Arthur looked over his shoulder to see where the slave had gone to his knees next to the pack horses, leash now trailing across the cobbled stones. The boy crossed his wrists behind his back and refused to move despite the Orkney servants who urged him.

"A slave, cousin?" Disapproval weighed in Gawain's voice.

"Ulf had him." Arthur waved the servants aside and crouched before the boy, who bared his throat to the prince when he reached for the leash.

"You managed to get him?"

"Part of the tribute." Arthur removed the leash, coiling the hateful thing in his hand. The boy knelt motionless, eyes closed and head tipped back until the prince tilted it back to a more normal position. "Stop that."

The boy cowered a little under the rebuke and rubbed his head against the prince's boots, shifting to lick at the leather. Arthur patted his head to soothe him and the boy settled, looking up at him before acknowledging Gawain with a full prostration. It lasted moments, like a formality, Arthur thought, before the boy climbed to his feet, head bent to await orders.

"Come." Arthur crooked a finger and turned back to his cousin, hoping the boy understood. To his relief, his slave stayed close behind his shoulder as he strode into the castle at Gawain's side. "He needs boots, and clothes that fit, if you might send one of your people to-"

Gawain held up his hand. "You are my guest, cousin, you and yours. It will be our pleasure to see to your needs, and those of your boy. My steward will see to it he has all he requires. But-" he leaned close and lowered his voice- "keep him with you. Mother's hired - well, they wouldn't take issue with…" The prince of Orkney looked childlike and awkward for a moment, then gathered himself. "The kitchen lads have had trouble, and all the maids. You know mercenaries. They take what they want without asking and tell you to consider it part of their pay when you protest."

"Mercenaries? What of your father's knights and men-at-arms?"

Gawain's lips thinned. "Later, cousin?"

"Aye."

"Terence!"

A boy with an angled face and softly curling brown hair paused where he had come around a corner and bowed to Gawain. "Milord."

"My manservant, Terence."

Terence acknowledged Arthur with another bow. He was slim, and moved like a dancer. His brown eyes were keen, almost playful, if they did not hold a sheen of otherworldly seriousness.

"See Prince Arthur to his chambers."

"Milord."

"And see about some clothes for his serving boy."

"Milord."

"Terence," Gawain growled.

The manservant was all innocence. "Milord?"

"Dash it, Terence!"

"Yes, milord."

"Come off it."

"Milord." Terence bowed again, and Arthur saw a smirk playing around his lips. Between that and Gawain's exasperated face, he realized the manservant was teasing his master.

"The boy has been with Ulf."

All teasing dropped out of Terence's face, and his fixed on the slave at Arthur's shoulder. The boy flinched at the sound of his old master's name, and Terence's expression opened with sympathy.

"Come with me, my lord prince," Terence nodded to Arthur. "I will see to your comfort, and that of your servant." He met Merlin's eyes as if speaking to the boy as well.

"Thank you." It came off Arthur's lips before he thought of it, and he started at his own politeness - to a servant no less.

Terence all but smirked at Gawain. "Milord."

The boy took charge of Arthur's possessions as soon as Terence showed them into the dark chamber, hissing at the servants who tried to handle his master's things. Terence watched the confrontation in amusement before calling off the lackeys and leaving the boy in peace to order the room. He did so quickly - Arthur had packed light - while Terence inquired as to Arthur's needs, apprised him of the location of the rest of the party, and extended an invitation to dine that night with Gawain. The manservant bowed and left, and Arthur looked around for the boy, finally finding him kneeling a little way from the door, back straight and head down.

The boy kept himself from staring around. He had not been in a castle since his second master. Many seasons he shuddered to think of the man, but now he thanked him, because he knew what to do and how to behave so he would not embarrass his new good master, like he might if only the hairy master had trained him. When all the other servants were gone, he helped Master wash and change into fresh clothes, learning the names of the garments as he went.

A maid came with a basket, and Master called him over and made him change into fresh clothes too. Trousers that fit, and a blue tunic, and a beautiful red tabard buckled with a belt. Woolen socks went warm onto his feet, followed by boots. It was so many clothes he hardly knew what to think of it. And they were to be his, always, Master explained. The boy pressed his forehead to the floor at his master's feet and remembered not to kiss them this time. Master was not comfortable with having his feet kissed so much, and the boy was disappointed. He had no other way to communicate his thankfulness besides obedience, and that did not seem like enough. Master lifted him to his feet, and he did not know quite what to do. Being lavished with such kindness and favor so often was far out of his experience, and if he followed his instinct, he would be flat on the floor always, which was no good. Master put a hand on the side of his head and spoke very kindly to him, and he drank in the tone of the words he did not understand.

When Master turned away to sit by the fire and rest, the boy sat down at his feet with resolve. He would be good and grateful, and very submissive, and not make his master punish him, like he had always done before. He must learn as many of Master's words as he could, so he could listen and obey without many explanations that would waste Master's time.

* * *

"Do you trust your boy?" Gawain asked when Arthur arrived at his chambers for supper. "Not to speak of what he hears?"

"He does not speak our language, and understands only a few words."

Gawain nodded, and Arthur realized that the room was empty of any attendants besides Terence. His cousin stepped around him to bar the door before ushering Arthur to the table.

"Gawain?"

His cousin checked the room, glancing behind tapestries and blocking the servant's hidden entrances before coming to seat himself across from Arthur at the small table.

"Did you know that Mother is an enchantress?"

Arthur's stomach dropped into the seat of the chair. "No." His father's own half-sister. Uther would level Orkney Hall into the dust before he let such a blight come upon their family, and Gawain-

"All of us knew, of course, but we haven't dared say anything. Father is dead, killed from a fall while hunting two weeks ago. Mother's taken the kingdom, and she has grandiose plans." Gawain shuddered, looking both older and younger all at once. "She intends to invade Camelot. The council is under her thumb, and many of the knights, but not all. That's why she has mercenaries."

"Are my men safe?"

"Yes. We've made certain of that. Mother is gone right now, but you must be gone before she comes back, and - I want you to take my brothers and me with you."

"Will anyone stop you from leaving?" Arthur asked.

Gawain shook his head. "I've no idea."

"How long until your mother returns?"

"Three days."

"That will give us time to plan."

Arthur watched his servant out of the side of his eye, in case the boy might understand more than he let on. But he seemed completely consumed in serving the food, imitating Terence's movements and patterns, but handling the silver service with rusty familiarity.

"Have you had any difficulty leaving the castle for other reasons?" he asked.

"Not as yet."

"We'll go on a hunt, then, and take your brothers with us, make sure we have enough of our own men to take care of any others who might prevent us leaving."

Gawain sighed, then smiled. "I missed you, cousin."

"And I you." Gawain was a good man, a good prince, and deserved a mother who was not corrupted by sorcery. "You and your brothers will be welcome in Camelot." He would make certain of it.

Terence unbarred the door, and they changed their conversation over dinner, blithely discussing the nuances of the hunt and the knightly arts. Other servants with eyes and ears too sharp found excuses to come into the room, and Arthur could see their mixed relief and frustration as they overheard nothing important.

He retired late, sinking comfortably into the deep feather mattress. Across the room, the boy banked the fire and changed into his nightclothes. He handled each garment with caution and folded his day clothes before tucking them onto a shelf. The slave crawled onto the foot of the bed and kissed each of Arthur's feet. When he stayed there, Arthur nudged him gently.

"Go to bed. Sleep."

The boy adjusted Arthur's coverlet before settling at the foot of the bed on a couch that had been brought in for him. The ignorance might not be a bad thing. At least it would be a good distraction during the two days they would have to remain here and pretend to know nothing.


	3. Chapter 3

A/N: Content warning.

* * *

The boy walked through the corridors from delivering the message to the red-haired lord. He'd packed all his master's things this evening; they were to leave tomorrow. He was glad. The castle did not feel right, and there was a darkness lingering in so many parts of it. A shadow moved, and a hand clapped over his mouth. Another arm snaked around his waist and lifted him off the ground. He thrashed, but his attacker didn't seem to care and dragged him silently down to a lower wing of the castle, where Master had very distinctly told him not to go. The boy kicked again, but his arms were pinned, and he could not cry out, and even now, his energy was waning, his instincts warning him not to fight.

The stench of bodies assaulted his nose as his attacker shouldered into a dingy barrack and tossed him onto the floor. Mercenaries, they had to be, from the difference between them and the castle folk. They had that look, that tone in their voices, and he knew that any plea for mercy would be fruitless. He shut his eyes against the flickering light and went limp as they tugged at him, squabbling over who would have his body first.

Master's kindness had affected him, warmed him up inside, and made the groping hands feel all the more cold and cruel. He was used to being used, for entertainment, for pleasure, for whatever else anyone who laid hands on him wanted, but there was a different tension in the room tonight. Someone finally got to him, and he bit out a yelp that brought raucous laughter. No one here was his master. No one would kick the others off and let him crawl away before it became too much for his body to bear. A few days of gentleness, of peace, of a different kind of touch, and it made the lust of the man on top of him feel all the more vile. The boy sobbed against the searing agony of it, trying to react as little as possible, to be as boring as possible. Whether he reacted or not seemed of little consequence - they only wanted satisfaction. He threw up, and they dragged him away from the sick by his ankle and started again, rough, slamming his body until he bled. He dry retched, flecks of bile on the dirty floor in front of him, and no one cared.

It would be over soon, he thought. His body would tear down the middle, and this would be how he would die, on the floor, crushed and battered for the uncaring pleasure of - how many was it now? It was better not to keep count, and some had likely come back for seconds. He wondered vaguely if they would even notice when he died. No. But he had not disobeyed Master. He had been good, and this was not his fault. Master would be angry, but it would not be his fault.

A thud, a squeal, sharp cries and crashing. The shouting, sneering voices over him stopped abruptly, no sound left but the grunting of the man just behind him, and then that one was wrenched free, thudding to the floor. The boy collapsed, and thought, strangely, that he was not dead. A hand on his side turned him over.

A kind, fierce face. Blue eyes full of anger and compassion and disgust all at once.

"Master?" he whispered, afraid. He'd seen the look in the eyes of the mercenaries, and knew Master was young, and they would not see a master - they would see another boy, another body, another means to enjoy themselves.

But none of them moved, unless it was to cower back. An aura of power and command hung around his master that struck even the boy so hard he could barely look up. Master knelt over him, dressed him almost tenderly, and scooped him into his arms. The boy clasped his hands around his master's neck, and saw Ser Leon, and Skyer Norse, and Terence, all carrying cudgels and with fire in their eyes.

Master carried him all the way back to his chamber, and did not put him down until the maids were hurrying in with steaming buckets of water. Then he set the boy on his couch and gently plucked off his clothes, and when the water was ready, he lifted him and set him into the tub, a hand on his shoulder to press him back to lean against the side. Someone put a pillow under his head, and it was all so very kind, so good, that tears started to catch under his breath again.

* * *

In the corner, Norris retched into a bucket. Arthur didn't blame him - the sight in the mercenary's barrack had driven him close to sickness too. But the rage was stronger, that anyone could treat someone so small and helpless with such cruel abandon, such- his vision flashed red, and his fingers itched for his sword. He had not thought that a person could do to another what he'd just seen done, had obviously been done, over and over, until Leon muttered that the boy might have died of it.

The boy gasped, tears drizzling down his face, and Arthur reached for him impulsively, cupping the boy's cheek in his hand and murmuring soothing words. They weren't much, but it was the tone that mattered, and the boy's eyes locked on his. A protective instinct rose in him, and he tangled his hand through the shaggy hair, rubbing gently, instead of offering the encouraging slap his upbringing suggested. The boy pressed into the touch and hung onto Arthur's wrist while Terence and Leon worked over him, cleaning. When they were finished, he reached into the water again and lifted the boy out, water streaming off his body, and lay him on a blanket where Leon rubbed him dry and began examining the wounds.

"He won't be sitting on a horse," the knight said soberly.

Arthur saw the wound Leon pointed at and winced. It was raw and ugly and still oozing blood, and would make walking painful, much less riding.

After being on the receiving end of such violence, Arthur was amazed that the boy remained so quiet and still under Leon's medical but invasive touch. Norris finally came close, paling to look at the damage, and then resolutely picking up bandages and beginning to wrap the boy's bleeding palms. He joined Arthur in speaking to the boy, meaningless phrases of comfort in a gentle tone like one might use to calm a restless warhorse.

"We'll head out tomorrow," Arthur confirmed to the knight. "And we'll find a way to make him as comfortable as possible. But we don't dare wait for Morgause to return." If they could escape the sorceress at all.

Leon left with Norris behind him. Terence stayed a little longer, to see to it that the bath was cleared away. His voice and movements were calm, but a dark fury lurked behind his brown eyes. From the way he'd handled the cudgel when they'd stormed the barrack, Arthur had a feeling the manservant had a squire's training.

"Til tomorrow, my lord," the squire said, bowing himself from the room.

Arthur settled the boy on the narrow couch before retiring into the bed, but he kept sitting up to look at the lump below him. The sick images played over and over in his mind as he tossed and turned, and then the boy screamed, pleading in his own language. Arthur scrambled across the bed and shook him awake from the nightmare. Wide blue eyes fastened on his in the darkness, and the slave clutched his nightshirt, quivering with fear.

Carefully, Arthur pulled the boy back into the bed with him, tugging a few pillows over to prop around him for comfort's sake. His slave never let go of his nightshirt and trembled all over, burying his face in Arthur's shoulder when the prince lay down next to him. He stroked the dark head awkwardly as the other sidled closer, hiding away against him. The trembling slowly ceased, the tears stopped, and Arthur felt the boy relax more completely than he had yet, forehead against Arthur's collarbone, one hand draped over the prince's side, his breathing deep and easy.

Arthur put both arms around the slight body, cupping the back of the boy's neck, and vowed in his heart that he would accept his duty as a master and protect this boy from now on.


	4. Chapter 4

The slave woke slowly, cradled tenderly in someone's arms. For a moment, he thought, _Mother,_ but when he opened his eyes, he saw Master. He shifted slightly and gasped with pain, and the terror of the night came back to him in a rush. He told himself quickly that he was a slave, that he would be used always, but the thought brought no comfort. It had not been a master who had used him, or given him over to be used, and he could not find a whit of difference between the times his masters had given permission and this time that Master hadn't, which was more bewildering than it should have been.

Master's eyes opened, blinking down on him gently, and he felt brave enough to ask about the confusion taking over his mind. If he could find the words for it.

"Master?"

"Hm?"

"Night, they take-use. Down there." He pointed in the direction of the mercenary's barrack.

Master sat up beside him. "Yes?"

"Masters - no you, Master - masters, they take-use slave. They say, 'Slave, go belong these;' _they_ take-use. Many, many. I pleasing slave. This night," he shrugged. And yet- "No. _This_ night - bad. Very bad. Why? Why this night bad?"

Last night was not different, besides the mercenaries bypassing his master's consent to use him, yet it was. It hurt inside and outside, and made him feel sick and confused, and after there were dark dreams like had not come to him in many years.

"It's bad because it's…bad." Master seemed to struggle to find words that his slave would understand, and the boy scooted closer to see the full meaning in his master's face. "Very bad to take you."

"They no say you, _we take boy please_? That why bad?"

Master's eyes widened. "No! No." He clasped the boy's shoulders gently. "It was bad because it was wrong - bad. It is bad to do that to you. Even if they say _please_ to me, even if I said, _yes_ , it would be bad to take you like that."

"Very bad?"

"Very _very_ bad."

If he understood Master correctly, he meant that it was always wrong for him to be used for sex. "You master. I slave. Slave belong master here," he ran his hands down himself, "and here," he touched his temples, "and here," he pressed his hands to his chest, "I very belong you; you do as please you to this."

"Which…makes it...more? More bad. More bad for a master to do that when you belong to him. What they did - last night?"

The slave nodded to show he understood.

Master awkwardly pulled himself around to sit cross legged and looked all over the room, twisting his hands in his lap. "It's called rape."

"When rape?"

"When…when it hurts. When you did not say _yes_. When you are not pleased to be with them."

"But masters-"

"Masters care. Masters protect. Owning you means I have responsibility for you - and your well-being. ...You didn't understand that, did you?

"No, Master."

His master scrubbed at his face and tried again. "You belong to me. So, I have to…to…be good to you. Do good. To hurt you would be bad, because you are mine."

The boy did not quite understand how a master could be bad when dealing with a slave he owned, but Master was very earnest.

"I...I say.. _.Do this, Slave_ , and you cannot say, _No, Master._ "

The boy nodded. "Obeys much."

"And that makes it worse - more bad - much bad - for me to say to you to do a bad thing. Or to do a bad thing to you."

"You own."

"So I must be good to you. And it is bad for me to say to you, _Do this...bad thing_."

The boy sat up across from him, puzzled. Was he saying that master could be wrong in his dealing with his own slave?

"Look. Owning…owning does not make good. I say to you… _Slave...kill...that man_ , yeah? Does that make killing good?"

"Obey good." The boy replied, still trying to understand.

"Does it make the killing good?"

The boy almost answered yes, but it felt wrong. If he was commanded to murder someone, obeying was good, but murder wasn't. So was obeying bad then? He held out his hands, palm up, hoping not to awaken Master's wrath with his next statement, the word reserved for more desperate situations. "Slave no see. Master help?"

"A master's word does not make a thing good."

Oh. And it did make sense, that a master could order a slave to do a bad thing, and no matter how right it was to obey, the thing would still be bad. "So…rape bad?"

Master's eyes were deadly serious and sad. "Very very bad."

The slave thought about his life, of all his masters, of every night and day he could remember, and if Master spoke true, then- Every master who commanded him not to fight back - or to fight back, because they liked the rush of dominance - every time he had been ordered to give himself over to his master's guests or comrades who…rape…

He felt like slime was crawling over his body. The wrongness coated him inside and out, like a second skin, and he almost expected to see pitch dripping off him. The amount of bad things he had obeyed would fill the whole room and overflow it. He was a vile, low creature, not even human, and he covered his face with his hands in shame.

"Bad," he whispered. "Very much bad. Master punish."

Master pulled his hands away from his face and lifted his chin with his fingers.

"Listen. You aren't bad."

The slave choked, tears strangling him. "But…many many bad-"

"No."

"They say, 'do bad thing;' I obey-"

"No. It makes them bad, not you. People doing bad to you does not ever make you bad."

"Very good slave?" he whispered.

"Very good."

"Master pleased?"

"Yes."

Master touched him, very gently, and petted him, and the slave kissed his palms, and bowed himself down among the rumpled blankets to press lips and forehead against his master's feet. The tears dripping down his face were like the rain in the spring, when it was soft and washed out the air and made it fresh again. "Belong you. Many good."

"You're welcome?" Master's voice was awkward again. He pulled the boy up and clumsily scrubbed at his dripping face with part of the sheet. A little of the wrongness seemed to wipe away with the tears, and he finished drying his eyes on his own sleeves. They needed to leave soon, leave this dark castle, and he must be up and moving the stiffness out of his body so he would not hinder his master.

He got to the courtyard at Master's side in a haze. The pain drove him to his knees a few times, and he was amazed at Master's patience, knowing their urgency. The others waited, with the dogs straining on their leashes, and they set off from the castle, slow, steady, and Master let him hang onto his saddle for support so he wouldn't fall and strangle himself on his leash. The party was dressed for hunting, and he wondered if he had misunderstood his master's meaning when he spoke of leaving.

Two little boys were with them, riding double on a horse, and they were not laughing. Both had red hair, like the lord, Gawin, and wore fine clothes. Three men rode very close to them, and he did not think they liked those men, and the men did not like them. They had hard faces, and pushed the horses so close they startled and snapped at each other. The little ones did not sit like nobles, but hunched, and did not look at anyone close.

In a clearing, they stopped, Master gave a signal, and the boy watched in shock as the three men close to the boys were suddenly dragged to the ground and silenced with quick knife thrusts. Leon put his horse between the little ones and the blood, and the bodies were dragged away and tossed down a crevice. Not a sound escaped, besides the barks of the dogs. The knights gathered the animal's leashes and quieted the animals, muzzling them.

Ser Wain caught him around his body again, and the boy recognized the movement and hung onto the man's shoulders, trying to brace himself up as the dark-haired knight lifted him onto Master's horse. He was not behind Master's saddle this time, but sitting sideways, like a lady might, practically on his master's lap. They tossed a cloak up after him, and wrapped him in it, and the party moved off, the dogs with them, and he was braced between his master's arms and riding steadily.

They moved at a swift, forced march pace, until the two young boys were whining miserably. The slave found himself dozing off, but when he shook himself awake, his master pressed him back against his chest and murmured for him to rest if he could. It did not seem right to sleep so, but with Master approving, he napped off and on for most of the ride, as the pain would allow, and felt better for it.

At full dark they finally stopped and made camp, though not a comfortable one as they had before. The watch was doubled, every man and beast poised to move or fight as the situation called for it.

The trees curved down, the wind shifted the dry leaves, and the boy's insides twisted around. Something was bad here, and he did not like all the shadows and the darkness, and wanted the daytime, because something was hiding out there. He leaned forward, back to the fire, trying to see into the night.

"Hey, lad," said Lord Gawin behind him, voice low, full of question.

"I feel it too, milord," Terence murmured.

Gawin exchanged a heavy look with his servant and shouted a warning just as the trees exploded with moving figures - the mercenaries from before, two sorcerers who flung the knight's swords aside. The young ones screamed, and the knights clustered around them, protective. The boy stumbled through the fray, somehow ignored, searching blindly for his master, on watch on the other side of the camp. The dark trees rose all around him, filtered through with a little moonlight, and the deadfall caught around his feet and made him crawl among the leaves while he tried to get back up.

He found Master, tall, and brave, and hopelessly outnumbered, with five men bearing down on him, disarming, grabbing, a bright sword uplifted over his master's bare throat, and the boy could not stop the wave of force that burst out of his body, slapping into the mercenaries, pushing them back. He ran to his master's side, full of defiance he dared not often feel, and _roared,_ feeling his eyes blaze, his palms out, fingers splayed and stiff. The men were blasted back and broke on the trees at the edge of the clearing, and Master scrambled to his feet and turned his sword on him.

The slave understood and dropped quickly, laying his forehead in the dead leaves. No master wanted to be confronted with a slave more powerful than they were, and his own master, kind as he was, would need his ownership confirmed. Cool steel, a little slick with someone else's blood, touched his neck, and he tilted his head to accommodate it.

* * *

Arthur's hand trembled on his sword, and he could not move it, even the small amount necessary to carry out the law he knew. The law he was sworn as a prince to uphold.

The boy had magic. And he was no sorcerer, who learned magic, but a _warlock_ , who had no need to learn magic because it was simply another part of him. An abomination, unnatural, a bastard child of the devil himself.

He thought he should move, finish the bloody task before he had to think about it, but his hand remained stubbornly still. The boy was a slave. The scene in the barrack the night before struck him like a blow to the face. The burst of power he'd seen now would have allowed the boy to protect himself then, and he hadn't lifted so much as a finger in his own defense. It made sense. If any one knew he had magic, that would be subjugated to his master as well, and he would become nothing more than a weapon. He had chosen not to use them at all, rather than kill and escape. Was he too beaten down to take such action? Arthur looked at the motionless bodies around him, and thought, _No. He will use it, under certain circumstances._ Not to protect himself? Not to win his freedom?

The boy grabbed his foot. "Master, please. No fire. Please."

"What?"

"You _Camelot_." A kind of desperation was in the boy's tone, as if this information was newly understood. He must know, then, about Camelot's laws, how they dealt with sorcery.

"Yes."

"Magic us you fire-kill." The boy looked up at him. "Please. No fire-kill. Hurts much. This. This-kill." He brushed the tips of his fingers across Arthur's sword. "Please."

All his training screamed to kill, kill. Kill this thing, like he had been taught. Like his father had commanded.

 _Just because a master says it does not make it right._

They said magic always changed people. Whether using it, or victims of it, or fighting against it, it changed them. Warlocks were the worst, they said, were obsessed with the accumulation of power from the moment they were born. Power obsessed? When he could barely keep the boy off his knees? A thought formed in the back of his mind, mixed, whispering of nature and raising, and what did make a man truly evil - were they born like that? Trained like that? Condemned to it by power, or circumstance? Some combination of them? He would have said the boy was good before he'd seen his eyes turn gold. And now? Somehow the magic hadn't changed this one, or he was the same enough to intrigue, to make Arthur put his sword back in its sheath and shut out his mentor's voices.

"No."

"Begging!" the slave clutched at Arthur.

"I'm not going to kill you." His voice did not seem quite his own.

A shudder ran through the boy. "What do?"

The prince swallowed. "I want you to keep your magic secret. No one can know of it but you and me."

"Se-se-cr-et?"

"Keep it…shhhhh."

The boy looked up. "No say?"

"No say. Keep shhhh. Keep secret."

"Slave obeys." He bent his head again, still huddled at Arthur's feet. "Slave keep magic very se-cret. Shhhhhh."

Everything the boy did now as a warlock would be Arthur's responsibility, because he knew what this demi-devil was, and let him live anyway.

 _He saved my life…_

Shouts through the trees drew his attention, and he muttered for the boy to get up. Arthur could hear the clash and scream of the fight, and drew his sword again, following the sound. Behind him, the boy pounded clumsily over the leaves, wheezing.

The two sorcerers wrecked mayhem on their party, flattening trees and slinging balls of fire that illuminated the clearing with flickering light. Arthur glanced back to see the boy's eyes flash gold again, and a branch cracked, landing on one sorcerer and crushing him. A mercenary lunged at him, and Arthur engaged, guarding - his head spun with it - the warlock behind him because he was their only hope of defeating the second sorcerer, who had already tossed three of Gawain's knights back to lie motionless on the ground. He saw the boy's eyes flash again, out of the side of his eye, and a fireball careening towards him changed direction, ricocheting to hit the sorcerer who threw it. The burning orb blasted him to the ground, and he died screaming.

Arthur ran the mercenary through and spared a glance back for the boy. He was pale and trembling, arms wrapped around his waist and eyes fixed on the two men he had just killed. Untrained. Taking down two experienced sorcerers with pure instinct. The prince turned back, wrestling with his decision to spare the boy all over again.

Two more mercenaries. Parry, sidestep, _can I let someone so powerful roam free without the magic corrupting them_ , parry, strike strike, _but what if he could be trained properly_ , step, parry, _did magic make evil by itself, or-_ strike, cut - a third mercenary, too close, too quick, and he couldn't turn and defend quickly enough-

The man stopped, eyes going wide, and fell on his face. The boy stood behind him, bloody knife still uplifted. Arthur saw it in a flash before he ducked one sword, lunging into the other man, then turning and digging his blade into the scalp of the second. They both fell, and he let his own motion turn him to his slave, who remained frozen, hand shaking.

Arthur drew breath to speak, and it dawned on him that he did not know the boy's name. "Hey," he breathed, moving slowly so he would not startle the boy. _Three times. Ye gods, three times._ His slave startled at the sound of his voice and dropped the knife, stumbling back to sit down heavily on the ground, curling into a small ball with his arms wrapped tightly around his knees. Arthur pulled at his wrist, and the boy did not move, simply stared at the blood on the tips of his slim fingers and shook as if buried in ice.

Two of Gawain's knights were dead, and nearly all the party injured, even little Gareth, who had a cut on his cheek and now clung to Gawain, sobbing heavily. Gaharis gripped the end of Gawain's cloak, eyes wide and terrified, while the older brother comforted both the best he could. The knights threw the camp together, leaving the mercenaries and their own men where they lay in their blood.

"Lucky, with those sorcerers," Cadagon commented.

No command would rouse the boy from where he sat, tears streaming down his face, rocking back and forth. Arthur finally reached past the boy's knees, tugging him by the collar this time, and the boy rose, eyes unfocused. Once leashed, the boy followed Arthur obediently, and Ywain lifted him back up in front of Arthur, where he hid himself in the prince's cloak.


	5. Chapter 5

They pressed on another two hours before making camp again, hiding themselves deeply into the rocks. The boy seemed to pull himself together, and tended the horses. He was still limping, Arthur saw, and he called him back to sit down and rest. The boy came quickly but shyly, drawing close as if uncertain of his welcome.

"Master punish?" he asked, kneeling down next to where Arthur sat, eyes averted.

"No. Why would I punish you?"

The boy spluttered in frustration as he attempted to find the words he required and finally fell silent.

"You did…no bad," Arthur reassured him. _Except magic. Except saving us all._

"Like water, like this," the boy touched his red tabard. "Come out," he mimed stabbing. "What this?" he whispered.

"Blood."

"No want make blood come out him. Want…want not-hurt master. Wanted blood _not_ come out you."

"It's okay."

"No like."

"That's okay too."

"I...I kill."

"Yes."

"Kill bad? Master punish?"

"No."

"Bad here." The boy pressed his palm against his chest. "Hurts. No like. No like kill."

"Killing...not good. But not always bad. Sometimes..."

"Kill those, make no hurt these?"

"Yes."

"No like. I must; they hurt you, Master."

"Then it is..." He demonstrated with his hands, "Good here," he gestured far left, "Bad here," he gestured far right, "it is...here." Towards the middle, but on the good side. "Called...Defense."

"De-fense."

"Defense. Defense good."

"I defense Master-?" The boy's lips mouthed _magic_ for his eyes alone.

"Yes. Defense good."

The boy nodded, and seemed very much relieved.

"What…what is your name?" Arthur asked.

The boy looked at him curiously.

"What are you called?"

"What call?" the boy pointed at himself. "Slave."

"No, no." Arthur pointed at himself. "Arthur. Leon, Ywain, Terence, Norris," he indicated each in turn, then pointed at the boy. "You?"

"Dreck. Whelp. Gremlin." The boy paused, then uttered a word that made even Leon, who had been places more vile than Arthur liked to think about, spit out the water he had drunk and start coughing. "Called please Master," he finished.

"What did your mother call you?"

"What 'mother'?"

Well, there was no reason he would know the word. "How…how do you like 'Merlin'?"

Something in the boy's movement reminded him of the small falcon, and once the name slipped into Arthur's head, it would not let go.

The boy gawked at Arthur, then nodded slowly, still staring in startled amazement.

"You like it? Pleased?"

His gaze dropped away from Arthur's. "What pleases Master."

"Hey. Look at me. Do you like it?"

The jerky, hesitant nod again. "Yes. Pleased." The boy licked his lips. "That…that what called long, when not-slave."

"You were Merlin?"

"Yes."

Incredibly, he had stumbled onto the boy's real name.

Merlin shuddered, and looked like he might throw up. Arthur reached to steady him, and the boy flinched under his touch.

"Merlin?"

Merlin trembled, and didn't look up, choking in the back of his throat, hands on his stomach. Arthur barely got out of the way before the boy arched forward and vomited. He sucked in a breath and retched again until he was heaving up bile and air, sweat standing out on his temples.

"Just some battle shock," Gawain said, noticing the unguarded confusion on Arthur's face. "And I expect you shocked him, guessing his name like that."

"Easy, Merlin," Arthur soothed, laying a hand on the boy's spine again. Merlin accepted the touch this time, and Arthur drew him away from the sick. "Come on."

They settled down in the bedroll together, Merlin watching Arthur's face with a mix of fear and eagerness. "Master afraid?" the boy whispered.

"Afraid?"

"Afraid magic."

"Yes," Arthur admitted.

"Magic no bad. Magic no good. Magic…magic. I use good, I use bad. It…sla- _Merlin_ , no magic. Master no afraid magic. Magic belong me, I belong you, so magic belong you. I use good."

"Okay." Arthur managed a smile. Now that the boy's powers were awakened, would his promise hold, when he knew the extent of what he could do?

* * *

The cold moved with them as they journeyed south, and Merlin did not fear it this year. Before, it meant hunger and sickness, and the humiliation of begging his way onto someone's sleeping mat, trading his body for a warm place to stay. With his new master, a cloak for the day and a bed for the night and a equal share of the food seemed to be a given, although he was very careful not to take them for granted. A slave who thought too much of himself came to a bad end, and he must remember that all good things came from his master's mercy, which he ought not to misuse.

Their entire party moved with caution, staying away from roads and taking the time to cover their trail. Under Ser Leon's care, his body healed faster than he could ever remember, and he felt strong, and could trot at Master's stirrup all day. His dreams, however, became steadily worse. He saw old masters, old cages, the eight men he killed defending Master - broken, burnt, bloody, because of his magic.

His magic could kill.

The thought made Merlin shudder, and he wished Master would whip him more. Or at all.

Terence dropped a pot into the stream with a splash and stared at him, and Merlin realized he had spoken out loud.

" _Why_?" the servant asked him.

Merlin hesitated. He was getting very good at their words, but needed time to use them. "Master beat-" he held up two fingers.

"Two."

"Two. Master beat two reason." He reached for a handful of sand and kept scrubbing the bowls. "For _punish_ , he beat slave very hard, maybe take away good thing. For _remember,_ beat not so hard, say, 'You belong me, slave.' Remember slave place, to stay in it. Remember belong master in body, in here-" he pointed to his head, "and here." He put his hand against his chest. "Remember master do all things to slave as please him, and slave no say against. My master? No beat me any."

He didn't crave the pain - not at all - just the helpless feeling. Eight men had died under his magic, and for the first time in his life, he feared it and himself. Without the proper restraints, he could hurt so many people, kill…anyone at all. He needed the powerlessness, needed to feel owned and at another's mercy, where he would be safe, controlled, kept from using his magic for evil.

But he would never feel that way again. Tears choked up in his throat. The magic would not hide itself again, not after being used so much. It throbbed in his veins, like strong singing, luring him to use it again. He had so much power. Enough to stop Master beating him. Even if he lay down and let Master tie him and whip him until the blood ran free, he would be allowing it, not forced defenseless into it.

"Look, um," Terence shifted awkwardly. "Your master doesn't have to own you for you to serve him well. Gawain doesn't own me."

"How you serve good, then?"

"Gawain asked me to be his manservant, I agreed, and now I serve him because I want to."

Merlin shook his head. "I bad. Very bad. Need whip."

"Somehow I doubt that."

"You no see before." Merlin closed his eyes and shuddered. "I very very bad. No serve, no kneel, no beg master or kiss feet."

"That actually sounds normal."

"No. Very bad. I see better now; obey much."

"Because you are afraid?" Terence asked.

"Because afraid?"

"Do you serve your master because you want to, or because you are afraid?"

"I want to because afraid."

"Afraid of what?"

"Of do bad thing."

"And getting beaten makes you not do bad things?"

Merlin bobbed his head, glad the other understood.

"You could get beaten and do bad things anyway."

He stared at the other. Certainly a slave could not still be bad after being beaten properly. Then again, his second master gave many punishments teaching him before he would so much as bow his neck to the man, many more before he bent knees and back and will. He could have not learned, and remained bad and disobedient.

"In the end," Terence said sagely, "You either serve your master because you want to, or disobey because you want to."

Merlin wet his lips, looking out over the little ice-rimmed brook where they were washing the dishes. "I want serve Master."

"Then serve him."

Was it really that easy? Merlin helped gather the dishes and pile them into the big pot, hefting it himself and carrying it back to camp, tilted sideways to compensate for the weight. His arm burned when he thumped it down by the fire pit, but he was not out of breath, and he smiled with quiet pleasure. He liked being stronger and was grateful that his master was willing to train him. Terence helped him tidy the camp for the night while the knights drew straws for watches. Garis and Garth were already curled in a blanket together, exhausted from the long days of riding.

"Merlin."

Master gestured to him from his sleeping mat, and Merlin nestled up near him. He tried a few nights to offer Master himself, and finally received a firm but gentle order to never do so again; it was not among his duties. Once he got over the fear that Master was merely displeased and understood that the young man simply was not interested in having intercourse, he settled into the simpler, more restful expectation of helping his master stay warm at night. The camp quieted, Merlin relaxed, leaning against his Master's chest, and fell asleep.

He slept deeply now, warm and comfortable, and his dreams were vile. Masters and slave traders and fellow slaves who screamed and hit and dragged him down into dark spaces full of terror hammered through his mind until he landed face-first on a stone floor.

 _The door creaked open, shedding light into the black room. Cage bars, all around him, heavy collar with spikes on the inside chaining him to the wall. He knew this place, not so much a dream as a memory of his second master. He was not trained. He did not know how to obey properly, and his body ached from the punishment._

 _He knew now why his body hurt on the inside too; this was the first time that had happened, the thing Master called rape. Master? Merlin pushed himself up off the dirty floor and held onto his head. Two masters knocked around inside his skull, one with light around him and a kind voice, the other real and present and holding something in his hand that Merlin did not want to think about. His leash tugged him forward, and he crawled unwillingly to the bars of the cage across from the man. And he tilted up his chin and met his eyes._

 _Half his brain screeched at him in horror, calling for him to get down, avoid more punishing. The other refused to be cowed, despised the lord holding his collar, told him so with the flash in his gaze._

 _"You liked that, didn't you, my little whelp?"_

 _"No."_

 _"No? Then why are you practically begging for more?"_

 _Clean-shaven face. Jaw and nose and eyes that anyone would call noble if they didn't know how cruel this one could be. A hand gripped his bare hip._

 _"How shall we go about it this time, hmm? Shall I have you again, or are you ready to obey?"_

 _Merlin knew this memory. Next, he would drop his eyes, then his head, then the rest of him, and the lord would laugh and laugh and wrench him out of the little barred hole and finish tearing out his spirit and crushing it in pieces on the dungeon floor. This time, something held him in place._

 _Not Master. This one was not his master. Merlin's fingers curled around the cage bar. This was a memory, and he did not belong._

 _"No." Merlin shook his head. "You are not my master."_

 _"Am I not?"_

 _"No. Not anymore."_

 _The bars disappeared, and the lord grabbed Merlin and shook him until his teeth rattled. "I own you, and you will submit to me! Wake up!"_

 _"No!"_

 _He landed on his back on the floor, the lord bearing down on top of him, still shaking him horribly, and Merlin fought like he had not dared in years. His limbs seemed trapped in thick mud, and he struggled against an invisible weight, and then his eyes snapped open._

The cage vanished. Merlin saw trees, and moonlight, Master above him, jostling him awake, and his own fist, clenched, loaded back. He watched in horror as his body struck out and he punched Master in the jaw, snapping the prince's head to the side. His body returned to his conscious control, and Merlin let his arms fall limply, eyes wide with shame and fear. How could he? Had he learned nothing in his years a slave? Did he feel no thankfulness to belong so someone kind and good for once? He shut his eyes, tears leaking out down the sides of his face. He must be beaten for this, and would bring Master the whip himself.

"What was that?" Master asked above him.

"I hit Master," he whispered. "Master punish."

"No, no. Why? Why did you hit me?"

Merlin peeled his eyes open and saw genuine curiosity in Master's face. "I…I see you being before master. Long time then."

"You thought I was an old master of yours?"

Merlin nodded. "Very sorry. Take punish. Very bad thing."

Master snorted and bent down over him. "Next time you think I'm one of your old masters, Merlin? Hit harder."


	6. Chapter 6

A softly falling snow lightly coated their blanket the next morning. Flat gray clouds hid the sunrise, and the watchman's breath frosted in the air in front of him. Arthur felt Merlin wriggle himself awake next to him, and yawned, arching his stiff back. His slave's agonized screams still echoed in his ears, and he turned to check on the boy. He had gone back to sleep easily enough, and stayed quiet the rest of the night. A rush of cold air struck him as the boy pulled himself free from the warm bedroll to curl himself down at Arthur's feet, face pressed into the thin layer of snow and flakes speckling his hair and melting on his bared neck. The prince buried his fingers in soft black hair and rubbed gently until Merlin's shoulders released their tension. The physical communication of his forgiveness and approval felt doubly awkward this morning, because he was not used to such frequent, affectionate touching, and because he did not think the boy had anything to be sorry for.

Merlin lifted abruptly, leaning forward to rest his forehead against Arthur's jaw where he had struck it. "Very sorry."

"You should be," Arthur said testily. "It didn't even bruise."

"No hurt?" Merlin looked carefully at the spot.

"No. Not at all."

"Good."

"No. Not good." Arthur kept his hands gentle on the boy's head so he would know that his master was not angry. "Bad."

"Bad?"

"Very bad."

Merlin dropped his eyes. "How bad, Master? No hurt."

"Exactly. You hit like a girl, Merlin. If you're going to start throwing punches, you better learn how to do it properly."

"Master…want hit?" The boy's eyebrows folded together in confusion.

"Yes."

"Hit Master?"

"No. No; for defense."

"Defense Master?"

"Defense _you_ , you ninny."

"Master say 'do,' slave no say 'no.' No defense."

"What about someone else? Someone else say, 'do,' hmm? What then?"

Intelligence lurked in flashes behind those downcast blue eyes, and Arthur saw it now, falling in as Merlin understood. The boy straightened out his back and proffered his wrists. "Master teach; slave obey. How hit?"

"I will teach you when we get to Camelot." More time, more space. They could make the castle by sundown tonight if they traveled hard.

They ate breakfast hastily, and Arthur caught Merlin into the saddle behind him as soon as he mounted instead of letting him walk. They took the closest road, passing horses and carts and bundled peasants stamping their feet against the cold in the frozen mud. Near sunset, Arthur reluctantly ordered Merlin to dismount. As a sorcerer, the boy was best avoiding Uther's notice, and riding behind the prince would attract attention.

They saw the towers rising over the hill at first, then the great castle itself, riven out of the ground and towering high over the surrounding trees. The town huddled low against its walls, lights glimmering out as the sun sank against the treetops. The leash on Arthur's saddle pulled taut, and the prince glanced back to see Merlin grab his collar and stumble forward, still gaping at the citadel. He drew the boy in gently and had him take a grip on the saddle to keep himself from stumbling.

Woodsmoke fogged the air, heady and pungent, mixing with the scent of the shops and the street-mire and cooking stew. The people stood aside to let him pass, bowing their heads in respect, a few calling out greetings, blessing. Arthur tried to see and recognize them all, leaning down from his saddle to briefly grip hands as he passed.

A light snow brushed the air, and Arthur looked forward to his warm chambers out of the wind. Cobblestones clacked under the horses' hooves as they entered the torchlit courtyard, sheltered from the icy breeze. Uther waited on the stairs, arms folded.

"You were long in coming," he said abruptly as the party dismounted, "and sent no message."

"I am sorry, my lord," Arthur replied. "We encountered…unexpected difficulties at Orkney Hall. I fear I bring news of King Lot's death."

Uther's mouth thinned. "I am sorry to hear that." His eyes sought out Gawain. "What brings _you_ here to Camelot?"

"My mother has taken the kingdom," Gawain replied soberly. "She has revealed herself to be a sorceress; my brothers and I ask for sanctuary. It is our fault Prince Arthur did not return when expected - we had to travel secretly."

Fire lit behind Uther's eyes, and Arthur held his breath, hoping, praying that his father's wrath would not explode across his nephew.

"You are welcome here," Uther said, and Arthur relaxed. "So long as your loyalty is to Camelot."

Gawain approached, beckoning to Gaharis and Gareth, who slipped stiffly from their horse. "Our loyalty is with the house of Pendragon." Gawain laid his hand on his heart. "I pledge you my service, my lord." The young man dropped to one knee, and his brothers followed his example.

"I accept it." Uther drew Gawain back to his feet. "My steward shall see to your housing and comfort, and that of your knights."

"Thank you, my lord."

"How went it with Ulf?" The king turned sharp eyes back to Arthur.

"He was reluctant to pay - I had to accept goods instead of one third of the gold."

"Leon?"

"The prince bargained fairly and with wisdom, my lord."

"Part-" Arthur hesitated, then plunged on, knowing it would come up when the goods were valued later. "Part of the offered tribute was this slave."

Merlin was curled over his knees on the cold stone, palms turned up and head resting on the ground. His hands trembled, and Arthur thought - _Warlock. By law I should turn him over for execution._

"He has been attached to me as my personal attendant, and I would like to keep the arrangement."

"I did not think you wanted a slave."

"I could not leave him."

"You ask him of me, then?" Another question seemed to lurk inside of Uther's inquiry.

"No." Arthur tilted his chin up. "It has been the custom for the enforcer of the treaty to claim a portion of the tribute in exchange for his travel and services. I take this slave as my portion."

He hid his sigh of relief as approval glinted in Uther's eyes. "He will be given your mark, then. Your travel was otherwise safe, my son?"

"Yes, Father."

"Very good."

The king departed without another word, and Arthur watched him stride away. At times like these, his desire for a stronger sign of approval than lack of criticism became especially strong. He tamped down his disappointment and turned back to his men. Pressure shoved against his legs, and he looked down to see Merlin hanging onto him, staring fearfully past his knees at the swirling cloak of the retreating king.

"Is he to be taken into the household, my lord?"

Arthur turned to see the steward standing at his shoulder. "He is."

"The king's?"

"Mine."

"Very well. Come with me, boy."

Merlin cringed away from the steward's sharp voice.

"Go with him," Arthur said.

"Belong you."

"Yes. Yes you do. Go with him, now." He passed the steward the boy's leash, and the man took it awkwardly.

"Certainly this isn't necessary, sire," the steward protested, looking at the thing.

"He's been harshly trained. There's no reason to be rough with him; he knows his place. Too well, in my opinion, but he'll follow whoever holds this without question."

"Of course, my lord. Come on, little one. You will be with your master again soon."

The boy rose and followed the steward with nervous obedience, and Arthur looked to Gawain and the knights. "I am glad you're here, cousin," he said warmly, clasping forearms with Gawain. "Get some rest."

"Thank you. C'mon, Gareth, on my back, sleepyhead." The prince of Orkney picked up his youngest brother and followed the Camelot servant into the castle, a sleeping Gaharis draped over Terence's shoulder.

Arthur dismissed his men, saw the tribute to the vaults, and finally retired to his chambers, footsore and tired. Merlin was already there, banging flint and steel together over a cold fireplace. His right arm moved stiffly, and Arthur saw the edge of a bandage. The boy finally grew frustrated with the unwilling sparks and dropped his hands, staring intently at the pile of wood. A flame leaped up a moment later, and Arthur's stomach lurched.

 _He could burn down anything with that._

So could anyone with a torch.

"Master?"

"Hm?"

"Why 'steward?' Him no stew. Not food."

"I…don't know."

Merlin turned, sitting back on his heels as Arthur sunk down into a chair. "This Camelot."

"Yes."

"Magic people you kill."

"…Yes."

"I magic. Why no kill?"

"I don't know," Arthur admitted. "It felt…bad. Bad to think of killing you."

"No kill magic people no more?"

"Some of them need to die."

"Why?"

"Because they're bad."

"And good magic people? They die too, here."

"Most people with magic aren't good."

"What make bad?"

"Power."

"Master have power. King have power. How not-same?"

"How's it different, you mean?"

"Yes. How dif-ferent?"

Arthur opened his mouth and closed it with no good answer in his mind. What about magic was corrupting?

"I'm tired," he said abruptly. "We should go to bed."

Merlin helped him change and let down the curtains around the big four poster before banking the fire for the night. Arthur called him to the bed - no other accommodations were in the room yet - and felt the familiar warmth snuggle into the feather mattress next to him even while he shivered between the cold sheets.

"If slave learn more magic," Merlin whispered through chattering teeth, "find magic make sleep place warm."

"Good plan," Arthur muttered, and could barely believe the words were coming out of his mouth. "Until then-"

The boy burrowed into his arms immediately, still trembling. He yelped when Arthur put too much pressure on his shoulder and Arthur shifted his hand.

"Hot fire stick," the boy explained. "Make hot, put on body. Make mark - steward help me see. Hurt much. Steward say it say I belong you."

"I'm sorry. It has to be done to all slaves in the household."

"Master no be sorry." Merlin nudged him gently. "I pleased belong you; pleased have body say it."

Arthur only hummed in reply. He was warmer now, body drowsy and ready to rest while his mind turned and scrambled. Every time this boy opened his mouth, he flew in the face of what Arthur though he knew about sorcerers. The prince knocked his head back against the pillow. Of course Merlin was different. He had no chance to feel dominant, to let the lure of absolute power seduce him away into evil. As much as Arthur despised the treatment the boy had received, it did make the young warlock tame. The boy could hardly be corrupted by powerful magic as a slave, collared, submissive to Arthur's will, safe from himself and the unnatural side of his powers. Arthur needed only to treat him kindly, protect him, keep him docile. There would be no need to turn the boy over for execution, and no need for Arthur to trouble his conscience over disobeying the king's law. After all, it only applied to magic users who were a threat to the kingdom, not quiet, well-controlled ones like Merlin, who couldn't help having their magic anyway. He would enforce a gentle slavery, and think no more about it.

Merlin shifted next to him, squirming and whimpering piteously in his sleep. Arthur shushed him, meeting cloudy eyes as the boy pulled out of the nightmare and rose partway to wakefulness.

"You belong to me now," he murmured. "You're safe."

"Arthur?" the boy mumbled, tongue thick with sleep.

"Yes."

The boy breathed deeply with relief. "Thought…saw…" He shuddered.

"They don't own you anymore."

"No. That good. Very good. No like…them." Merlin paused, still blinking sleepily, then, "You sell some time? Sell me away?"

"No. Never. You're mine."

"Make oath?"

"On my hope of heaven. You'll belong to me always."

"No sell?"

"No."

"No give?"

"No sell, no give, no send away. You have my word."

"I stay long; until die." The boy pressed his hand to Arthur's heart, and his eyes burned deep, glowing golden, like liquid fire. "My oath belong you."

A tingle passed through Arthur, down to his toes, and he suppressed a shiver at the magic touching him.

 _He's safe_ , he reminded himself. _And so is his magic._

* * *

 ** _A/N: Merry Christmas, Happy Holidays, etc.! I hope your season is as lovely as mine is so far. What with work and Christmas, I don't know how well I will be able to update - I've posted everything I wrote ahead - but I will try my utmost to stay consistent._**

 ** _Comments and feedback are always welcome. I would love to know what promises you think the plot has made as far as story development and resolution, and which of the many plots you would like to see drive the story -_ Merlin debrainwashed _;_ Arthur becomes acquainted with good magic _; or_ Morgause is a witch with intentions of world domination. _Thank you for reading this far and providing me for accountability in developing my writing habit._**


	7. Chapter 7

Merlin could not bear to watch the woman burn. Her screams rent the cloudy sky, pierced his mind, formed a shrieking backdrop to the king's roaring tirade, words he half understood. The crowded courtyard below the balcony where the royal family stood smelled of putrid smoke and fear. Below the crown, the king's face was glowing red, fists clenched and trembling, his voice full of rage that made Merlin's knees buckle with the mere tone. He feared Uther from the start, even more now that he had spent even these few weeks in a kingdom under his command.

The horrible sound of the burning woman reached a hysteric pitch of agony as her curses and anger turned into pathetic pleas for mercy. Snow tumbled out of the clouds as if in answer, and she died even as the cool flurries hissed against the burning wood and cooled her pyre.

"I cannot fight this battle alone," growled the king, voice lower now that the woman was silent. "We must be united, as one, strong against these foul sorcerers. Gather together, people of Camelot! Bring them out from among you that we may purge this land and live in peace! Burn their homes! Burn their bodies! Let nothing be spared until we wipe their memory off the face of the earth!"

A bloodthirsty cry of eagerness and agreement lifted the voice of the crowd together, and Merlin fled without being dismissed, hands over his ears. The sound cut through to him anyway, and if he did not understand exactly all the words the king was using, he knew the king hated those who used magic and commanded that they be burned like the screaming woman in the courtyard. He staggered blindly into Master's rooms, stumbling as he came through the door. His knees gave out, and he crawled underneath the bed, shaking despite not being cold. He knew enough to know that even masters had greater masters, whom they must obey, and even though Master was very great, he lowered his eyes before the king, and must do as he said.

Which meant Master must give up his Merlin to the king so he could burn with the rest of the magic folk. Merlin sobbed, pulling his knees up to his face and wrapping them close in his arms. He did not want to watch his skin turn black and peel away from his bones while the king howled in triumphant rage over his screams of agony. But his life was not his to beg for, and Master was not to be resisted.

The door opened and closed, and Merlin stifled his sobs against his legs so he would not disturb his master.

"Come here."

Merlin turned onto his knees and slowly crept out from under the bed. Snow still fell outside the window, and Master kept his chairs close to the fire. He passed the table on his hands and knees, not certain his legs would support walking. Leaving Master's presence without being first dismissed was nothing to illegal existence, so he did not offer himself for punishment before huddling down between Master and the fire. The flames popped too loudly and burned too hot behind them, sending little dancing shadows across the stone. He shut his eyes against them and waited.

Master's fingers slid down the back of his neck and underneath his collar, pressing his head gently against the floor, and he submitted beneath the touch.

"Don't be afraid." Master murmured. "I will keep you safe; your magic will never make you bad."

"What do?" Merlin whispered.

"Your magic will be our secret."

"No burn?" he asked, just to be sure.

Master stroked him with soft hands. "Never so long as you are mine."

"Master?"

"Hm?"

"Slave ask thing?"

"Yes."

"Why king say magic bad? Why Master say different?"

"The king sees magic do bad things, sees people with too much power that makes them bad. I see _you_. You have magic, but you do not crave power."

"What _crave_?"

Master hesitated. "Crave is…want much. You do not want power, or want to hurt people to get power."

"Some magic do?"

"Yes. They do anything to get power, and it makes their - their inside very bad. Dark."

"No want be dark inside me."

"No. So just obey me."

"No magic?" The thought was painful, but his magic was ultimately Master's, not his, and must answer to his master's word.

"Ask me before you do anything. So I can make you safe from the bad magic."

Merlin burst into fresh tears. What had he done, to get a master so merciful and kind, who knew Merlin's name by instinct and defied his king and master to let his slave live simply because he _saw_ him, and cared?

"Obeys," he choked, pressing his lips against Master's boot.

Master lifted Merlin's chin until he was up on his knees between Master's feet. "And I will take care of you."

"Slave go before Master say, 'Go.' Master punish bad?"

"No. But do not do it again. It could raise questions we do not want to answer."

Two taps on the door. A page sidestepped in and bowed. "Lord Degray requests to see you, your highness."

"Send him in."

Master kept his hand on Merlin's head, tilting it down, as the lord glided into the room and bowed respectfully.

"Please, sit."

"Thank you, sire. I see your boy is here with you; I had wondered where he ran away to during the execution. It seemed to upset him very much."

"It is not a pleasant sight."

Merlin knelt back on his heels and relaxed motionless, glad for the training that kept him still despite his racing heart.

"No. But it seemed that the king's speech horrified him more. Was he associated with the woman?"

"What are you asking?"

"You hardly know where the boy comes from; what if-"

Master burst out laughing. "You think he might be a sorcerer?"

"Well, considering his reaction - one some would call guilty-"

"If Merlin were a sorcerer, I would know," Master smiled. "He has concealed nothing from me."

"Are you certain, sire? I know that warlord who owned him too well. He could have planted him to bring you harm."

"Thank you for your concern, Lord Degray. I'm afraid, however, it was a simple misunderstanding of the reason for the execution. The woman was a servant in the household, you remember. Merlin doesn't speak our tongue well, and believed she was being punished for not obeying her master."

"He thought she was burned at the stake for mere disobedience?" Lord Degray's tone was horrified.

"He has been cruelly used and was very distraught until I explained." Master stroked his hand through Merlin's hair.

"Poor creature."

Another hand touched Merlin, and he startled at the contact. Lord Degray crouched down beside Master's knee, black beard peppered with gray, short hair, blue robe trimmed with a deep wolf fur. "You have the noblest master in Camelot, boy."

Merlin lifted his eyes carefully to Master, turning them to the lord when the prince inclined his head.

"What 'noble,' ser?"

"Kind, good. Great-hearted, merciful - fair."

Merlin nodded, understanding most of the words, and laid his forehead against Master's leg. "Slave does."

"And that is why you should not be so afraid."

Merlin looked back up at Lord Degray, who smiled, making the edges of his eyes crinkle along warm old lines.

"Give him your loyalty, not your terror. Ah. Loyalty is to follow? Yes? Follow and stand with and care for. And for you, obey. Terror is to be very very afraid. Fear brings nothing good to those who live in it."

"King afraid magic." The words were out of Merlin's mouth before he could think, and he blushed and put his head down, biting his tongue.

"Yes. Many are."

Master rubbed the skin underneath Merlin's collar again. "What about you, Jesiah?"

"Magic…only makes me sorrowful. It is not what it was, long ago, in my grandfather's day. Once, they saw magic as a gift, to be used reverently. Now they make themselves gods. All full of hate and power. And fear."

"You support the purge?"

"Of course. The soul of magic was corrupted long ago, and no good can come out of it any longer. But…in your ear, my lord, the king is too emotional. This fury of passion will see many innocent people die. Like this one." He ran light fingers over Merlin's head. "Coming under suspicion just because he ran away from the spectacle of someone burning to death? Sorcerers may be monsters, but we cannot become monsters ourselves just to drive them out, or how is the world a better place when we are finished?"

Lord Degray stood.

"Some of the lords were in quite the frenzy after your boy fled, insisting he ought to be next to burn. I shall reassure the council that your slave is no sorcerer."

"They cannot honestly think it. You and I both know no sorcerer would be so willingly bound."

"The king wants dead sorcerers, my prince. And there are many who want his favor and will deliver." He sighed heavily. "We will be finding 'sorcerers' under every tablecloth until the next harvest. God grant rest to the innocent who die from our panic."

Merlin watched the nice lord leave with his page behind him, then turned to look up at Master.

"Magic no bad."

Master leaned his arms on his legs to bring their heads close. "Merlin-"

"Beg Master hear me. Please. No say if Master tell no say."

"Alright. Go on."

Merlin closed his eyes and reached far back in his memory for the words his mother told him, then tried to find some of Master's words that would fit the words she said. He struggled, and it did not sound so beautiful as when mother said it. "Some magic people very bad. Some magic people very good. It all _choose._ Use magic hurt people same as use hand hurt people, use sword hurt people. Hurt people bad, not magic."

"Merlin-"

"Begging Master, hear once. Fire-woman; she scream in my head, so much. I belong you like Camelot-people belong you like magic people belong you. I do bad thing, you punish - beat very hard, maybe kill. Camelot-people do bad thing, you punish them. Why magic-people for kill, Master? We do bad thing, you punish - beat very hard, kill. But _before_? Why _have_ magic bad thing? Why not good until do bad thing with magic? You say you keep me safe from bad magic, why not those magic people also them keep safe from bad magic?" The king and the woman wailed in his mind, and he swiped tears off his face. "You noble. Be good master of people. _All_ people, begging you. Hands same to all them, when bad, when good, and not burn up like the sticks when make food-"

He caught his breath and tears and hung his head. The burning woman still screamed, urging him to continue, but he held his tongue. It was not his place; he'd already overstepped into dangerous territory. "Slave say too much. Very sorry."

"The woman who was killed this morning was bad," Master said, very gentle. "She did hurt people with her magic, and it was proven before the court. You saw. You heard."

"Yes, Master."

"But…I hear…I see what you say. Will you do something?"

"Do all things to please Master." Merlin said quickly. " Master say, do, I obey. Begging Master - please say what slave obey." There. Master knew he was in control again and relaxed across the shoulders.

"Use…your magic…for good. Always. I have never seen good magic."

A smile broke across Merlin's face. "Belong you. Obeys very much. Use magic good. Help Master see whatever Master say he want see. But…" A small voice niggled in the back of his head, suggesting that his master's people were right, and magic did corrupt. "Beg thing of Master?"

"Yes."

"If I go bad, you kill. No burn. Very sword-fast-kill."

"I will." Master's eyes searched his face strangely, and the prince shook himself a little. "Go now. You have tasks."

Merlin bent to press his mouth to the floor before departing the room with the laundry basket balanced easily on his hip. Master was sunk deep back in his chair, staring at the fire, and Merlin knew he ought not to disturb his thinking, especially when he put so many of the thoughts there with his rash outburst. He was lucky Master listened instead of flogging him for insubordination. The woman's screams did not echo in his head so loudly, and he ignored them, turning his attention to his chores and finding ways to please his master and soothe whatever anger might be roused in the prince because of his behavior.

* * *

By the time Merlin delivered supper that evening, Arthur was ready to chastise him for causing such an earsplitting headache. The boy's heartfelt plea had gone straight through his heart and head and confused the thoughts he believed to be settled weeks ago. He still knew what right and wrong was, but not where anyone fit in it, and it was the ridiculous slave's fault.

Merlin removed the covers on the dishes and carried the tray to Arthur, the scent of his favorite foods drifting towards him on the steam. Just as the prince opened his mouth to rebuke the boy for speaking out of turn and send him away, Merlin slid to his knees, supporting the tray on his arms so his master could dine without leaving the chair. The slave held the tray expertly still while the prince ate and kept his head down, no more obvious in the room than a small table, and Arthur was reminded the boy had spent many years avoiding - and deflecting - the anger of far crueler men than himself. He decided to lecture him after eating, then found with his belly full that he had no appetite for it. He settled for inquiring sternly after all the boy's assigned chores, and found them each completed. That, and the stuttering flicker of fear in Merlin's eyes, drained out the last of his anger and left a far milder exasperation in its wake.

Arthur sent the boy to sleep on the floor in front of the fire that night, wanting to be alone with his own thoughts in the darkness. He woke tangled in twisted sheets, no closer to any understanding, his head throbbing behind his eyes. _Magic is evil_ was easy to understand, to act upon. But if it wasn't, how did you know? How did you know who was good and who was bad before they killed or didn't? The instigator of his conundrum crawled into the bed, pushing aside the curtains and untangling the sheets from around Arthur's legs.

"Head so hurt?" he whispered when Arthur rubbed his temples painfully. "I go Gaius, get help. Master sleep."

Neither breakfast nor two goblets of cold water, nor their physician's best headache remedy, massaged into Arthur's neck and shoulders by Merlin's gentle fingers, could loosen the tight band of pain around Arthur's head. He barely made it into the throne room behind his father, and sunk back in his chair wobbly-legged, stomach sour. The usual gathering, knights and lords and servants, all had their eyes on him, Arthur reminded himself. He straightened in the high backed wooden chair as his slave arranged his cloak, trying not to squint against the sunlight pouring in the wall of windows at his left. Merlin fussed a long time and brought Arthur another goblet of water before he settled at his feet, glancing back at the prince with concern in his eyes.

Then again, how did you normally know people were good, and why would sorcerers be any different? A little of the pounding eased, and he managed to take in more of the room in time to see the doors come open and two guards drag a man into the room.

Arthur closed his eyes. He could not bear to watch another trial yet. But he was prince, and must do the duty of his father's son.

The guards were not so much dragging the man as carrying him, and they set him down gently on the floor below the throne, crouching down to hold him up when he tilted forward.

"You're in the presence of the king," the guard told the man kindly.

The man's lips and hands were cracked and bleeding, the ends of the fingers black and the lips blue. His cloak and furred boots were caked with ice and snow, but he did not shiver, which struck Arthur as odd. He looked up blearily and reeled, and Arthur finally recognized him as an Orkney servant-spy, planted by Uther years ago as a second source of news from the other kingdom.

"She's coming," the man whispered, eyes unfocused. "The witch and her army. Mercenaries. Soldiers. Knights. Sorcerers. She is coming."

He folded as if bowing face-down to the king, but landed in an awkward angle, tilted, his hands draped at his sides.

"He is dead, sire," the guard next to him said, checking the man's vitals.

Uther rose from his throne. "Commit the body to his family, and give them the usual compensation. He has brought us this news at the price of his life, and will be buried with full honor. Leon! Prepare the city for siege. We will not fall to a witch-queen while I rule this land."

* * *

 ** _A/N: Here you go. Before the end of the year, even. Personally, I believe this needs more Gawain, but my muse apparently disagrees. Happy New Year, gentle reader_**!


	8. Chapter 8

Merlin's feet were sore at the end of each day after scurrying around, either behind Master or on errands for him. Messages dashed around the halls, council meetings descended into shouting matches and fistcuffs, and refugees fleeing the advance of Morgause's army poured into the city at an alarming rate. The council seemed to spend most of its time arguing over how long supplies would last and how they ought to be rationed, and to whom, in between cursing Morgause to all the hells they knew without ever saying how they would defeat her. He rubbed sweet-smelling oil into the sole of Master's foot where it hung over the edge of the deep bath, and felt sorry for him. Merlin was living the best existence he could ever remember, but his master was haggard and hoarse from arguing. He championed his people in the midst of lords who cared nothing for those outside the castle walls and was scorned for it. The nobles should know better, Merlin thought. The prince was their lord and master, and they begrudged even bending their neck in his presence.

The bath did not send heat at him like it had, and Merlin checked it with his finger before willing the water hot again. He stopped it precisely before it would start to burn and saw the golden reflection of his eyes fade.

Master sighed with relief, and Merlin switched to the other foot.

"It worth it, Master," he murmured, nuzzling the red, boot-pinched toes.

His master opened tired eyes and peered at him through the steam curling softly off the surface of the water. "Hm?"

"I in town-low-"

"The lower town?"

"I in the lower town today, and hear people say about you, Master. They say you good prince, say they loyal you very much."

Master draped his head back over the edge of the bath. "The lords don't agree."

"Lords domnoddy." Merlin stopped rubbing Master's foot, startled by his own irreverence, and peered at the other out of the side of his eye, checking for displeasure. Master only looked startled.

"Where'd you learn that word?"

"Terence," Merlin admitted, digging his fingers into the sore places under Master's toes. "He say many things lords. Call many thing. Make face at Master Gawain while council happen so Master Gawain no sleep on table. Then, we go laundry, and scrub very hard, and Terence do like lords, except way to make laugh, and we all laugh very much. No make laugh you, Master," he added quickly. "Or king."

"He calls the lords domnoddy?" Master asked, a smile breaking out on his tired face.

Merlin nodded. "And Catrin call them meat-head."

"What do you call them?"

"…I call clotpole. Very big clotpole. They no listen you."

Master tilted back his head and shouted with laughter that seemed to free all his muscles from their hard-set lines. When he stopped, he sighed, and rubbed his hands over his face. "That's twice you've reheated this water now, Merlin. You're spoiling me."

"I no make you clotpole, Master. You have go very very much far be big clotpole like lords."

"How so?"

"Lords…lords think all people belong them. But…must act like master over all to think that. Act like master over other lord. Other lord, him poof up chest, be angry, say, _No,_ I _master, fool_."

Master chortled, stiffness easing more, and Merlin smiled inwardly, glad for Terence's demonstration of the nobles' boasts that afternoon that let him amuse his master and ease his tension.

"You know you prince. No have prove. Know we belong you. No have prove. To other. To us. Lords say, _This belong us,_ prove by take it, stomp on many times, say, _See how I squash? I squash so much, so belong me so much_. We belong you, Master, you take in hands like little bird, hide from big storm, say, _This belong me,_ prove by keep safe, say, _Come to feet, I cover with shield. No you afraid no more - because belong me._ "

Master was not amused anymore. He had an odd look in his eyes, damp and longing, not angry, and he gently pulled his feet from Merlin's fingers to splash back into the bath before shifting to the near side of the tub. Merlin dropped his head, wondering if he had said something wrong.

"No, Merlin." Water dripped down his face where Master clasped his head. "Don't cower. You told me something I needed to hear very much today."

"Master pleased?"

"Yes. Hand me the towel."

Master dried himself, and dressed in his long woolen dressing-robe, tying the fur-edged garment close around him against the constant draft from the windows before going to sit in his chair by the fire so Merlin could slide warm slippers on his feet.

"Go get the pouch in the bottom of the wardrobe. I've something for you."

Merlin's eyes widened. He was well clothed, had more than enough to eat, and a soft, warm place to sleep, and all that was far, far more than he needed.

"Two things, actually."

"For slave?" he whispered. It wasn't even a proper day of celebration, when masters might give their favorite slaves gifts.

"Go on."

Merlin burrowed into the wardrobe under the clothes and brought Master the large wrapped pouch. Master drew him close and pulled out what Merlin thought looked like a buckled collar. "This first."

The short length of leather shone in the firelight, embossed from one end to the other with knotwork that bewildered the eye with grace and complexity. A round buckle of steel clasped it into a circle that molded easily with Merlin's hands as he turned it.

"I thought you deserved better than having to wear the end of Leon's old broken belt."

Merlin had expected Master might switch to more secure restraint, like a forged steel band, not something so beautiful that he could easily remove by himself. Too overcome by the extent of his master's trust to speak, he passed it back and offered his neck to let Master change the collars. The prince was a long time about it and switched holes no less than five times before he was satisfied with how it fit.

"Comfortable?" he asked, testing the inside edge. "No hurt?"

"No hurt." Merlin could barely _feel_ it.

"Good. Now, open this, and tell me what you think." He passed the pouch down and leaned on his knees, excitement glittering in his eyes.

Two things, he had said. Merlin could barely wrap his head around one, and here was another, soft, and a little heavy. He opened the fabric wrapping with trembling fingers, laying it open on his lap to reveal a thick fur, wolf, by the color. It was cut to wrap around the shoulders and fasten with a short strap and buckle. A hat and snug mittens, both lined with sheepskin, were tucked with it, which was no less than three things all in this pouch, which made _four_ -

"It looks to be a cold winter," Master said. "And you're too scrawny to stay warm otherwise."

"It soft. I so much…" Merlin trailed off. The people here did not use words for gratitude very much, around him at least, and he did not remember them. Such a gift was unheard of. "So much pleased. Master very good."

"You're welcome." Master ruffled up his hair, which was growing shaggy again, and Merlin lifted a little into the fond touch, eyes closed, savoring the moment. His master's hand dropped with him when he shifted and sunk flat on the floor, and he felt a little more fear ebb away. It did not come back, and left a lightness in its absence.

"Arthur?"

"Gawain! Good Lord, man, can't you knock?"

"No. Is Merlin alright?"

"Oh. Yes. He just gets like this sometimes, when he can't find the words he wants."

Master's fingers caressed the nape of his neck, and Merlin selfishly wished he could stay here, resting, enjoying the warmth of the fire and his master's favor until he fell asleep. But Gawain was here, and a slave could not rest while his master had guests. He rose as Gawain dropped into the chair opposite Master, Terence close behind him. The other servant tugged off Gawain's boots while Merlin gathered his fur and slipped off to tuck it in the small chest under his sleeping couch with his other clothes.

"Gawain!" Arthur choked.

"What?"

"Your feet smell, milord. AHG!"

Terence plunked onto his rump in front of the fire, one of Gawain's stockinged feet thrust rudely into his face. The young man slapped it roughly aside.

"You are disgusting, milord."

"Jam tarts."

"The king had them all taken to his chambers. What was I supposed to do?"

"Get more?"

"Sophie isn't _that_ fond of me."

"Excuses-"

Terence rolled his eyes and dumped Gawain's boots beside his chair before leaning back on his hands, long legs stretched towards the fire. Merlin stared at him - back-talking his master and Master Gawain encouraging it? He knelt down properly at Master's feet and yet somehow felt fusty.

Arthur's racing heart slowed back down to its methodical rhythm. Merlin had not been doing any magic, he reassured himself, just genuflecting all over the floor, which was peculiar but not suspicious. His ears were not as sharp as he thought, or his chambers were not as secure, and what if someone came in when Merlin eyes were gilded with magic from one of the hundred small things he did every day and they dragged him before the king? The little he knew from carefully asking Gaius assured him that telling an awakened warlock not to use magic was about as effective as spitting into a whirlwind.

"You look relaxed." The sarcasm in Gawain's voice contradicted his words.

"Council."

Gawain grunted. "As things stand, I don't see how anyone is going to get out of this city alive."

"What do you mean? Camelot has never fallen to an invader."

"You've never seen her, Arthur. Mother, I mean." Gawain exchanged a sober look with his manservant. "She's beautiful. I never saw a more beautiful woman. It doesn't matter who you are, what she is saying, she has this - air - about her, this way of looking at you, that makes you want to crawl down on your hands and knees and kiss her hem and call her Mistress, just to get another smile. It must be an element of her magic, but she'll break a man before he even knew he bent."

Magic. Gawain seemed lost in a memory, and they stared into the fire a long time. Arthur searched his mind for any knowledge of how to battle a powerful sorcerer and found nothing. He remembered the two sorcerers they had encountered while fleeing Orkney, and his hand unconsciously dropped against Merlin's head. The boy's powers might give them a chance.

And he would be attacked by both sides as soon as they were revealed. Arthur sunk his fingers through the thick black hair and Merlin shifted to lean against his knee. The boy deserved better than that. Keeping his magic a secret would be best.

Unless he were trained to use it.

Arthur stumbled away from the thought and slammed a mental door against it as soon as it became conscious. That way was folly and destruction. He would protect this one, let him live and grow in peace, away from the wickedness of men and magic as much as he could.

"She has a terrible rage, too," Gawain murmured. "Once she takes it into her mind to destroy something, she tears it apart piece by piece, patiently, until there is nothing left. I think she revels in the destruction just as much as the victory."

"Gawain-" Arthur began.

"And all you can do is fight with each other!" Gawain struck his thigh angrily and huffed. "Not you, Wart, but, good God above, what have your nobles got stuck up their arse?"

"A clotpole, according to Merlin."

Gawain's approving glance fell on his slave for a moment before he turned back to Arthur. "Do you have any way of combating them that we have not heard of?"

Arthur took a deep breath, his instinctive answer dying on his tongue. "No," he admitted, shoulders slumping. "I think we only catch the less powerful, or the ones who can be manipulated through a threat to someone they care for, but there are enough of those to keep the pyres lit. And everyone satisfied that sorcerers are no threat we cannot defeat."

"They think we will win, and they are already trying to manipulate the victory for their own benefit."

"You think we will lose?"

"Yes." Gawain's face was grim, damp eyes averted from Arthur's face. "We will lose because we have no way to really battle sorcery."

"We must fight, Gawain. The people trust us to do it."

"I do not disagree. But perhaps we should not take winning for granted."

"There are passages underneath the castle, and many of the people are already there. They would allow us to move them away into the forest, behind the enemy lines, if it looks like the citadel might fall." In the dead of winter, with no shelter or supplies. Freeze, or be slaughtered, maybe enslaved.

"Has Gaius any advice? He has not been in the council."

"I asked him. He hinted strongly that you cannot fight powerful magic without magic. We have no sorcerers anyway."

Merlin pressed against his leg.

"Even if we did, no one would accept them. And what would be the point of winning, then? Even the most powerful sorcerers can be overwhelmed by brute force, Gawain. We just have to hold long enough to strike."


	9. Chapter 9

**A/N: This chapter has been an absolute bear to write. I smashed out three thousand words in one afternoon and thought I had it ready to post Tuesday, but I handed it off to a friend to be beta'ed. Luckily, my friend is very frank with me when I try to write garbage, and took me back to the drawing board, which is always hard, but did produce a much better second draft.**

 **Kate: Thank you so much for all the reviews. I'm glad you're enjoying. :)**

* * *

Arthur checked around the corner before turning and beckoning to the people behind him. The council insisted on shutting everyone in the lower town out of the citadel as they prepared for siege, but he had managed to gather these few and bring them to the catacombs. The guards were his own, and would turn a blind eye.

"Thank you, sire," one of the elders said, kneeling at his feet.

Arthur drew him up quickly. "It is the least I can do. Be sure to keep the people quiet, the council does not know you are here."

The elder nodded, and turned back to the group, perhaps two hundred men, women, and ragged children, clutching bags of food and various odd belongings. They clustered in little circles of families and friends, spreading blankets on the stone, glancing nervously at the piles of skulls that stared hollowly down on them among the macabre geometry of the bones decorating the walls.

"Are there spirits here?" one woman asked him nervously.

"Only the spirits of our ancestors, if any," Arthur reassured her.

The slightest whisper of brushing fabric echoed through the caverns, abruptly drowned out by a loud patter of feet and the sound of heavy breathing. The townspeople drew closer to their lights as a huge shadow flailed into sight on the wall, crying, "Master! Master!"

Merlin reeled around the corner, clutching his side, considerably smaller than his shadow, and holding a wildly swinging lantern aloft. The townspeople relaxed and made way for him as he staggered, panting, to where Arthur stood.

"Witch come," he gasped. "I on wall, like Master say. Up up up."

"Tower?"

"On tow-wer. So much dirt, all up. Over trees, over - over people walk on."

"The road."

"Road. Yes. Much dirt over road far way. It boil on air. I say watching-man, 'What dirt?' Him say army make dirt go up. Army come. Many...many name-cloth. Master Gawain mother name-cloth. Others." Merlin held up four fingers. "This many."

"Four."

"Four king. Four king come army. Witch come army. That make, make, five. Five name-cloth."

The elder stared at the boy. "Name-cloths?"

"Banners," Arthur replied absently. "She must have allies."

"I run fast to Master, but king call, say, 'Where Master?' I tell him you cat-comb, see defense. Him say that good, and tell slave tell Master see wall-defense. I kneel king, run fast, come here."

"Very good. Elder, I must go, before the king sends some other messenger to find me."

"Yes, sire. Thank you."

Merlin fell into step behind him, still catching his breath, and Arthur turned to him on the stairway. "Tell no one they are down there, understand?"

"Yes, Master."

The castle was alive with knights and men-at-arms racing through the halls in various states of undone armor. Gawain came down off the west tower in a clatter of metal, his breastplate slightly askew. "Arthur! Have you seen it?"

"I was securing the catacombs."

"There's armies from five kingdoms out there. Northumbria, Strathclyde, Solyes, Longtains, and Orkney. I'd say about nine thousand altogether. Knights, men-at-arms, some mercenaries."

"Have they camped yet?"

Gawain hesitated. "No. We're not sure what they're doing. Ah, Terence."

The manservant stumbled back to keep from running into them, took one look at Gawain, and put a hand over his face. "You tried to dress yourself."

"I did dress myself, thank you."

"It's all- How did you do this without me?"

"Perfectly well, you impertinent scamp."

Terence irreverently spun Gawain around by the straps of his armor and knelt to tighten the shin guards. "How did you even get your own pauldrons - no, I take that back. You didn't."

"I balanced them."

Gawain clattered loudly as Terence appeared to lace him together, glaring critically at every piece and scrubbing at the small smudges with his sleeve. "We're just lucky no one saw you sparkling on the battlements and decided to take a shot at all these gaps."

"Sir Griflet sparkles. I shine-"

"With the inner light of nobility, milord. We're all blinded. More comfortable?"

"Yes."

"Don't run off without me again?"

"Yes, mother. You have your armor?"

Terence pulled up his sleeve to reveal chainmail, and Gawain nodded with satisfaction. "Good. And carry my spare sword for me."

Arthur turned his steps towards the north-west battlements and blinked against the light as he came out into the cold wind. Their enemies spread out on the fields between the castle and the forest under five banners, but the army wasn't setting up camp. They clustered in tight circles, shoulder to shoulder, just out of bowshot from the castle and close to the Darkling Woods. No siege engines, or preparations to build them, or even a line of attack that he could recognize.

Behind him, Merlin shivered. The tail of the wolf fur wrapped around his neck, the woolen hat covered his ears, and he still trembled, breath fogging the air in front of his rosy cheeks.

"Cold?" Arthur asked.

"Bad thing," Merlin whispered. "Bad thing come."

"It's called a siege."

"And it's normal to be nervous before a battle," Gawain added.

"No. Not nerve."

Terence looked sharply at the other boy, and Gawain's eyes fixed on his servant.

"Terence?"

"Your mother's a witch."

"I knew that."

Terence's eyes darted around them, and he wet his lips. "I think the odds of her trying something magical are pretty high, don't you, milord?"

"Bad. Bad bad thing. Masters, see!" Merlin pointed at a thin trail of smoke rising above the fringe of the trees. "It come there."

Terence bent double, arms wrapped around himself, then lunged forward to heave over the edge of the battlements. Merlin hit the wall with a sharp smack beside him and retched, his whole body straining. He spat and slid down the inside of the wall to the walkway, pale as cat's cream.

"So bad thing she do. You see, Ter?"

"I don't see it. I feel it," Terence replied, turning to empty what was left of his guts over the wall again.

"You can feel her spellcasting?" Arthur demanded. If Merlin could sense Morgause because he was a warlock, what did that mean about Gawain's servant?

Terence froze, still panting, his head slumped on his arms, and Gawain shifted, hand going to his sword.

"Answer me."

"Sire." Gawain was between them in an instant. "Please. I have trusted Terence with my life; he has followed me to the gates of hell without faltering. We are with you, heart and soul."

Arthur became aware of the knights and men-at-arms nearby, not quite close enough to hear their conversation, but the trusted servant of a trusted friend deserved a more discrete inquiry, even if he might be a sorcerer. He knelt down next to Merlin and put a hand on his forehead, beckoning Terence down with them.

"Do you feel her spellcasting?" he asked.

"What spell-cast?"

"Doing magic."

"Yes. I feel."

"I as well, sire. She's somewhere over close to that smoke."

"Any idea what she is doing?"

"Bad thing."

"I've encountered dark magic before, sire, but I've never felt something on this scale." Terence looked up at where Gawain shielded their conversation from unwelcome eyes. "Which is saying a lot."

Shouts along the wall drew them up from where they stood, and Arthur gazed out over the snow-covered fields around the castle. Something flickered at the edge of the woods close to the rising smoke. Twisting darkness reached for the sky, and purple sparks flared at the edge of the forest with a whoosh.

One pillar of black fire rose, edged with sickly purple. Tendrils of flame reached to either side, sputtering reluctantly at first, then surging along the edge of the forest, now low against the ground like a prowling cat, now shooting up above the treetops, flinging indigo smoke into the air. Merlin whimpered and clutched at his sleeve as the fire joined into a circle around the castle and its surrounding fields. The purple deepened to a richer color, leaving the black void at the heart of the flame, as the flames rose as high as the castle wall.

Sparks blasted through one section of flame, tearing an arched doorway into the balefire. A blond woman in red and silver rode through on a white horse, a long object in her hand. She thrust the staff high into the air, and the fire roared and rushed towards the castle, devouring the snow as it passed and shooting jets of steam into the sky. The flames struck the attacking army and parted around them, closing back as it neared the castle and morphing into a sheet of writhing, serpentine flame. The cries of fear and defiance passed through Arthur as he watched, mesmerized by the curling smoke and mist surrounding the balefire.

The moat hissed when the fire struck it, flooding the castle with warm fog. The purple light beyond stuttered and died down as the mist thickened, dumping itself over the battlements and tumbling down the stairs into the courtyard below. For a moment, they leaned forward, wondering if the moat had stopped the sheet of flame. Water burbled, and sharp cracks cut the air as the refuse stewing in the trench caught fire. With a roar of triumph, the wall of fire climbed up again, smashing in waves against the wall and shooting into the air, lost in the fog, casting them all in wild purple light. Streaks of flame lunged across the battlements, snakes of fire with sparks for eyes that snatched screaming men in their jaws and dragged them off the wall. Arthur ducked under the outside parapet next to Gawain and Terence, Merlin shamelessly huddling under the prince's arm with his hands over his ears. The stone warmed behind them until the fire arced up and crashed away with a final roar, breaking below into flying sparks that faded into the cloud that rested over the castle.

Shouts and screams came to Arthur through the mist, the sounds of running feet, bloodcurdling cries of fear that started high above and ended sickening thumps below. Figures ran blindly past them, shouting in incoherent terror. Arthur stood and strained his eyes, but he could barely see the other side of their walkway, much less the five armies in the fields beyond.

Gawain swore, eloquently cursing his mother as he helped Terence, who leaned on him for support. "How did she cast that?" the servant gasped.

"How so much? How so much?" Merlin rocked on his knees, holding his head. "So much much power it take do that. How? _How?_ "

"Sire. You should get off the battlements," Gawain said suddenly, grabbing Arthur's arm.

"It is my duty to oversee the defenses."

"We can't _see_ anything, we don't know what my mother is doing out there, and any messages for you are likely to come to the citadel. You'll be safer there. Come."

Arthur gave way reluctantly, groping towards the staircase with Gawain's shoulder against his and Merlin hanging onto his cloak behind him. He nearly fell when his foot slipped off the stair, and he found his way down off the walls and up to the castle doors by instinct alone.

The mist crawled along the ground inside, ankle deep and curling at his shins. No one looked comfortable with it, and several nobles walked with rosaries clutched in their hands, as if the strand of beads would ward off whatever darkness might be in fog.

"What was that dark abomination?" Uther demanded of Gaius as Arthur entered the council chambers.

"Balefire, your majesty," the physician replied. "Followed by a mage-mist. I highly doubt we will be able to see anything until the witch decides to lift it."

Uther cursed eloquently and slammed a fist down on the table. "Damn magic. She will burn, I swear it!"

The threat sounded empty to Arthur, and he turned away before his father saw him. A witch who could conjure that much balefire would not fear a pyre.

"Shouldn't we report to the king?" Gawain asked as the prince hastily left the room as Uther descended into a rage. Something crashed into the wall inside the chamber behind them, and glass shattered among the clatter of metal and wood.

"Do you want to tell him your manservant is a sorcerer?" Arthur hissed back. Terence jumped guiltily. "You are, aren't you?"

The boy's silence and Gawain's tension was answer enough, and Arthur made certain they were alone before grabbing Terence and shoving him back into an alcove.

"Arthur-"

"You've said enough, Gawain." Arthur closed in on the manservant, who backed up into the corner but didn't attack.

"Cousin, please."

"He'll answer for himself. On your knees, Terence."

Arthur's heart slammed inside his chest as he waited, watching Terence's face as the boy looked between him and some point over Arthur's shoulder that was probably Gawain. He dropped slowly, and Gawain's chest nudged up against Arthur's back, his breath heaving.

"Do you have magic?"

The pause was painful. "Yes."

"I'll only ask you this once, and if you break your word, I'll kill you myself. Are you with us?"

"I'm with you, Sire," Terence replied. "I swear it."

Somehow, the prince believed him, the same way he believed that Merlin was good. No one who sickened at the casting of balefire could be evil, could they? Arthur reached out a hand and pulled Terence to his feet. "Alright."

* * *

Night deepened around Camelot, black in the thick mist. Arthur stood at the window of his chambers, hating the fog that kept him from seeing so much as a flicker of light from the torches in the courtyard below. The firelight turned the mist crawling across his floor to a warm gold and made the room less sinister.

"How men fight when no see?" Merlin asked.

"We can't." Depending on how quietly their enemies approached, they might have no warning of attack at all. Neither army would benefit from the encompassing mist, but in the chaos that resulted, Camelot's men-at-arms might very well kill each other if something set them into a panic.

His slave put a blanket around his shoulders before sitting down beside his feet, leaning against him with the gentle pressure of companionship. Another soul who looked to Arthur with absolute trust in his eyes. The knights and soldiers reacted the same way, responding as he traveled the castle, spreading the desperate, empty assurance that the king had a plan.

They believed him. Poor fools. The council could not agree on anything, the king was in an incoherent rage over the magic permeating his domain, and Arthur had no idea how to defend against an enemy they could not see.

* * *

The hour bells rang hauntingly in the impenetrable darkness. Master pressed a hand to the cold window pane and slid slowly to his knees, letting his forehead drop against the stone ledge. Merlin pulled away from him, staring in amazement. The prince's lips moved soundlessly and he looked up, touching forehead, chest, and both shoulders in turn before clasping his hands and bowing his head again.

Master would not kneel to the window, or to the fog. Merlin peered through the window and saw nothing but his own dim reflection. The witch? He dismissed that thought quickly - his master would not kneel to her and beg. That left the gods. Divine intervention, if it existed, would be very nice, Merlin decided, provided it was in their favor. If Master was humbling himself to plead with the gods to save the city, Merlin should join him, and plead too, for whatever it counted. He was on the floor before he realized he didn't know which ones to direct his prayers to. Mentally addressing them to whoever Master prayed to would have to do.

The hour bells rang again before Master touched his back. Merlin lifted to see the other still kneeling beside him, eyes red-rimmed.

"There's nothing more we can do."

Master was either at peace or resigned, Merlin could not tell which, and he rose stiffly, obviously unused to kneeling for long periods. He went to bed in his clothes, except for boots, with his weapons close to hand, and Merlin made him comfortable before crawling under the covers and curling safely against Master's side. From where he lay, he could see the black window, and a sense of foreboding settled deep in his gut.

"What is it?" Master whispered.

Merlin's gut tightened, twisted, and a scream flashed in his mind _dark-light-terror-knife-pain-black-_

"Merlin!"

He blinked, seeing fire, hearing voices that were not there, then coming back to the soft mattress where Master leaned over him.

Power surged somewhere outside the castle, malignant, creeping like a wild lion. Merlin's vision went black again as the earth itself seemed to shriek in horror. He tasted blood and fear and the wrongness turned his stomach in knots.

Master blessedly shoved the chamber pot under his face before he retched, clearing what little supper he'd had out of his gut. Merlin dropped back into the pillows, rolling onto his back underneath Master's chest. His fingers twisted in the prince's shirt as he dragged his master down on top of him, trying to hide from the battering force of power that pulsed somewhere outside the castle wall.

"What?" Master demanded.

"Witch. Witch make bad spell."

Another scream in his ears. For a second he could see fire, and a woman, standing over him with a bloody knife, and then it was Master, lifted on his hands and knees over Merlin, his brows scrunched with worry.

"Can you find her?"

It was enough to be _here_ and feel it, much less closer. "No find bad lady," he panted.

"Could you?"

"Yes." She was in the same place he had felt her when she cast the fire spell that afternoon.

"We need to go, then."

"No!" He knew he shouldn't contradict Master, but the spell ached, and he didn't want to go out and find it or see it.

Master's touch was full of compassion. "Merlin, if we can find her, we can stop her. Can you do that?"

To stop the ground and the people screaming? He could do that. Master helped him sit up, and he swung shaky legs over the side of the mattress.

A pounding on the door made Merlin jump and tumble to the floor.

"Who is it?" Master yelled.

"Gawain!" Master Gawain barged into the room without waiting for Master's invitation, Terence leaning on his shoulder. "Has Merlin thrown up yet?"

"Yes." Master stared at him.

"Terence says this is a nasty one. Can you get us through the gate?"

Master dragged Merlin up and steadied him on his feet. "No. But I know a way through the catacombs."

"Does it let out on the northwest side of the city?" Terence asked.

"Northeast."

"Good enough," Gawain said. "She's in that spot where we saw the smoke earlier. Better arm Merlin, in case she has someone with her."

"There's old armor in that chest."

Gawain pushed Merlin aside and armed Master himself with graceful efficiency while Terence burrowed in the chest and found a leather cuirass for Merlin to wear. Merlin dragged it over his shoulders and helped Terence tighten the straps. The two crashed into each other as a third scream pierced Merlin's head with the vision of fire and the bloody knife.

"Again?" Gawain asked, as he and Master boosted Merlin and Terence upright.

"What is she doing?" Master asked.

Terence's face twisted. "Blood sacrifice."


	10. Chapter 10

**A/N: The end of this is updated from the original posting.**

 **Kate: Glad I could make your day. :) That section was one of my favorites to write so far.**

 **Manni: Hello backatcha! I'm trying to write Gawain and Terence as close to their canon selves in _Squire's Tales_ as I could, which means there is plenty of sass. They weren't intended to be foils for Arthur and Merlin in this story, but...I guess, yes, I, um, totally did that on purpose. Yep. ;)**

 **Guest: Here be more, as requested.**

* * *

 _"What is she doing?" Master asked._

 _Terence's face twisted. "Blood sacrifice."_

"What that?" Merlin asked, not really wanting to know the answer. _Blood_ he knew; _sacrifice-_

"She's killing people to cast a spell," the other explained.

"What kind of spell?" Master asked.

"I've no idea, sire. Nothing good."

Merlin put on his cloak and wolf pelt and tugged his woolen hat over his ears. This witch must be a truly wicked person if she was willing to kill people to do magic. Master Gawain and Terence were already dressed against the cold, swords strapped on their waists. Gawain checked the hallway before they darted for one of the servant's passages, Merlin grabbing his leash off the chest near the door before they left.

Master took the lead, and Terence fell in just behind him, muttering softly and conjuring a red ball of swirling light in his hand. The mist was knee-deep here and condensed on the walls, chilling them to the bone despite their warm clothes. Merlin lost his sense of direction by the time Master brushed thick cobwebs off an ancient staircase with his sword.

They took their time on the stairs, feeling for each fog-smothered step with careful feet. Merlin tripped twice, and Master Gawain steadied him. Hanging cobwebs blocked their vision almost as much as the mist at their knees. Merlin's legs burned with with every step when the air breathed differently and he realized they were almost down. The passage leveled out, and rubble from a cave-in loomed between them and the catacombs.

Merlin's stomach clenched. He stumbled, and his vision went black - he was in another place, and he saw the woman standing over him again. She was beautiful: gold hair like the rising sun, perfect red lips, magnificent even curled with rage. The light of fury in her blue eyes could not be more sublime, matched in his mind only by her flawless white fingers curled around the silver knife. Her drawn-up sleeves showed perfectly formed arms almost to the shoulder, elegantly shadowed with firelight, and she was robed in a blood red dress that clung tastefully to each delicate curve of her form.

He loathed her.

The dagger darted down, and he screamed in agony before his eyes went dark.

"Merlin!" groping hands found his body, his shoulders and arms, pulling him to his feet. His eyes were open, but he could not see anything.

"Terence!" Gawain called. "A little light here."

A soft moan was in only reply.

"Terence?"

"Not yet, Milord."

They stayed in darkness, their breathing the only sound, until a green-gold swirling light slowly lit their passage, small as a nutshell.

"Sorry. It's all I can manage." Terence leaned against the wall until Gawain gently pulled his arm around his shoulder and took most of his weight.

"Come on."

Rocks tumbled noisily away as they crawled over the broken stone, heaped almost to the top of the passage. The ceiling rubbed against Merlin's back as he crawled over the pile that choked the end of the stairway. Master slipped, Merlin grabbed his arm, and they slid down the rocks together, landing in a tangle, although Merlin hardly minded being close to Master with the yawning darkness of the catacombs before them.

Pebbles and dust slid down around them, and Gawain slid to the floor, Terence close behind him, holding his tiny light in his palm. The pile of rubble shifted and cracked, settling again after their disturbance, and Gawain sneezed at the dust.

Something crashed out in the darkness. A vile feeling rose up in Merlin, twisted, and lifted away. The cavern shook, and the four scrambled away from the rubble as it shifted again, loose stones sliding down to the floor. Bones cascaded from the ceiling and poured out of their tombs in the walls to vanish into the thick layer of fog on the floor.

"Lend me some power?" Terence asked Merlin, holding out his hand.

Merlin glanced at Master, who nodded, and clasped Terence's hand. A tingle crawled through his arm, drawing gently and painlessly; Terence gasped, his eyes shining with magic, and his light burned into a bright and golden globe that illuminated the entire room where they stood.

"Good gog, Merlin," the manservant whispered, staring at him. "You're-"

Underneath the mist, the bones clattered, and Master and Master Gawain dropped into defensive stances, reaching for their swords. A skeleton hand reached up out of the fog, groping through the air, clenching, and dropping back down again. Terence dropped the globe of light into Merlin's hands, blinding him for a moment.

He blinked, recovering, watching the curling layer of fog for anything else strange. A skull rose, hollow eye sockets staring at them. The thing stood, old bones grating against each other, stretching its limbs and jaw.

"The hell…" Gawain whispered.

Another rose, cracking its vertebrae straight, and then they were everywhere, standing from somewhere down on the floor, motionless skeletons who stared at the flesh-humans without moving.

"Is that the spell she was casting?" Master asked tightly.

"It would seem so."

Master lifted his sword and stepped towards the creatures. Not a one moved, and Merlin followed him fearfully, Master Gawain and Terence on either side of him in a small wedge. They passed into the midst of the standing skeletons, old bones crunching and crumbling under their feet.

A crack snapped through the air, and Merlin saw one skeleton staring at them. It lifted a bony finger laden with dusty jeweled rings, pointing at Master. All the other creatures turned as one, tilting their heads, teeth grinning.

Master pressed on, and the skull's eyes watched them, heads turning around backwards to watch as they passed. Every bone in the catacombs seemed to have found its fellows and reformed. Some still carried the jewels and rotting garments they were buried in, crowns resting around their skulls.

An owl screeched somewhere in the darkness, and all the skeletons snapped around, gazing up. At a second scream, the creatures rushed towards the passages leading up to the castle, hurling the stones that blocked them aside, clogging into each other where the doorways were narrow. Master was shoved into the wall by the press as the skeletons trampled their fellows into scattered pieces in their desperation to get out of the catacombs. Merlin tumbled backwards into an open and empty tomb, rolling in the dust and trying to get out before Master shoved him back and joined him in the nook. Terence scrambled over the edge after them, calling for Gawain, who went down out of their sight before his hands curled over the edge of the stone sarcophagus. They grabbed his arms and dragged him in on top of them. Awkwardly fighting for space, they gawked at the mindless army of the dead flailing past them in a cloud of white dust.

The clatter of feet drowned out all other sounds, and Merlin wondered about the townspeople Master guided here, who hid in another chamber, and if they were hurt. As the stampede of bony bodies thinned, the bones of the trampled skeletons rose from the mist again to chase after their fellows.

Master lunged from their hiding place as one trailing skeleton staggered past, hunchbacked and limping on mismatched legs. The long sweep of his blade severed the skull, and he cut through the spine twice as he followed it down, hacking at the creature even as the bones clattered on the floor. A moment later, the thing rose up again, bones notched but bound together again, and rushed on, ignoring the prince. Master stared after it in helpless shock.

"They won't die?"

"They're already dead." Master Gawain crawled over the rim of the tomb to stand beside him. "How would you kill something like that?"

The mist on the floor thinned out into nothing as they reached the end of the passages and emerged out in the forest. Terence let the light Merlin still carried go out before they left the shelter of the passage. Looking back, Merlin could see the whole castle submerged in a cloud, the tip of the tallest tower just protruding at the top. The wet, cold air nipped at his nose, and he shivered.

"Can you find her?" Master asked Terence.

"Oh, I can find her." Terence glared west and pointed.

Merlin could feel it too, the traces of the dark spell that raised the bones still flickering on the air. He knelt before Master and held out his leash so they could go on into the forest.

Master grabbed his wrists and yanked him to his feet, wrenching the leash out of his hands. The spark in the prince's eyes told Merlin that he was angry, and he averted his eyes, buckling at the knees and trying to figure out what he did wrong.

"Stand up." Master's voice snapped harshly across him. Merlin locked his knees to keep them straight, trembling under his master's displeasure.

"Arthur-"

"Wait, Gawain. I won't tolerate this any longer, and we can't have it hindering us tonight."

Merlin cringed in on himself, his master's command the only thing keeping him upright. Standing here taking the full brunt of Master's anger was far worse than cowering beneath it at his feet, and tears choked his throat.

"Look at me."

The memory of Master's kindness gave Merlin the courage to meet the prince's eyes, though he kept his head bent into hunched shoulders. Master held up the coiled leash.

"You can follow me, or you can stay here, but I refuse to drag you by your neck. You understand me? No leash."

"Slave understand," Merlin whispered. Master did not want him to wear the tether. His eyes still fixed on the length of braided leather. Even if Master did not want it clipped to his collar, he did.

Master passed it back to him. "Throw it away."

Every stitch felt familiar, woven by his own fingers to mark his master's property. At first, he'd hurled it away, refused to wear it, humiliated, angry. The leather was dark with sweat and blood where the cruel lord flogged him with the coils until he begged for the lead. Even after he accepted it, the lord would trick him into leaving it behind, just to punish him over again. _Throw it away_ was never a real command.

This master was different, he told himself. And they were losing time. Gathering his courage, he tried to fling the leash into the trees, but his fingers did not let go until the end, and it dropped with a little flump into the snow a few feet away, vanishing from his sight.

 _Bad. Stupid._ How could he be so stupid? _Fetch the leash. Bring it back. Give it to Master; beg to be punished._ Fear smothered him, and Merlin fell to his knees, shaking, waiting for the explosion of anger and the following blows.

"Stand up."

He struggled upright, his stomach twisting, heart battering against his ribs. The prince reached for him, and he cringed, standing stiff as Master clasped his head gently with gloved fingers. No slapping or kicking.

"Well done."

"Master pleased?" He had to hear it.

"Yes."

Relief weakened his knees all over again, and he nudged forward to lean on his master, trying to breathe away the remnants of fear.

"Now, do you want to come with us?"

Merlin nodded and dared to meet the kind eyes. Why would he not?

"Alright."

Master turned and forged off through the snow, and Merlin watched him go, Gawain and Terence behind him, trying to get his feet to move. His old master's voice was harsh in his mind, and he looked over his shoulder, almost expecting to see the other man standing there. Dead trees, live trees, snow covered rocks, the disturbance in the snow where the leash landed. Clenching his fists inside his mittens, Merlin turned and ran after Master, who had almost vanished into the trees. The prince looked over his shoulder and smiled at him, beckoning, and something inside Merlin broke free and leaped with happiness. He caught up with the group and matched their pace, blowing on his hands and tucking them into his armpits to warm them.

They kept quiet and close to the shadows, glancing at the fog-shrouded castle every now and again. Shouts of fighting and the clatter of metal on metal echoed across the barren ground, and flashes of light sometimes shone through the mist. The camp of the five kings was empty except for servants and other camp followers, who huddled close to their fires and did not watch the forest. Merlin smelled dirt and woodsmoke and unwashed bodies, and something else that was not a smell but demanded his attention anyway.

Darkness. Darkness did not have smell, did it? Or a taste, but he knew it as soon as they got close.

"Bad spell," he whispered to the others. "Up there."

Terence gestured, and Master and Gawain nodded, crouching down to wait while the manservant went on soundlessly. He vanished in the shadows only a few steps from them, and they heard no other sound from the forest but the brush of snow-laden trees. Someone in the camp nearby laughed, and a fire flared with the rustle of wood being tossed into the flames. A little of the light brushed Merlin's fingers, orange beside moonlit blue.

Terence seemed to appear in front of them and bent close to whisper, "It's just up ahead. Clearing's empty."

They rose and followed him a stone's throw to a newly made clearing near the fringe of the woods. Light glimmered through the trees, and Merlin saw hanging animal skulls, sputtering candles placed inside so that the eyes and mouths glowed. Clumps of four, hung every few paces, some smoking with pungent herbs. He was careful not to walk directly underneath any of them and made certain no one else did. Lights like these attracted bad spirits.

The ground was crudely paved with stones that shifted underfoot in the softened earth. An equally crude altar sat on the north side of the clearing, long and wide enough for a man to lie on. Four bodies lay in front of it, broken and bent into unnatural shapes and laid in a perfect circle. A small pile of wood smoldered in the middle of the circle, a silver knife thrust in the the ashes.

All the darkness came from that center point, the remnants of a surge of power that attracted his curiosity in spite of himself. Merlin ventured closer to the ring, where the air still vibrated with the after-effects of the spell. One old man, one young man, one young woman, and a child. Each bore the marks of systematic torture, cuts and blows meant cause more pain than damage, all arranged in neat patterns that still wept drops of blood. More patterns were drawn across the stone inside the circle in the victim's blood. The drawing glared at him, resting atop another pattern traced in powdery white, and a third, barely visible at the bottom, that seemed to have melted into the stone.

Distantly, he heard Master swear. "This is what it takes to raise the dead?"

Terence shivered. "I guess."

"You don't know?"

"I've never had any interest in this line of sorcery."

"But we can break it."

"No." Terence's voice was very soft, and full of regret. "The victims are dead, the casting fire has gone out. We'd have to cast a counter-spell at this point."

"And I suppose you don't know how to do that?" Master asked sharply.

"No."

Merlin ignored them and went to the child. A little girl, he decided, from her hair and body. He carefully straightened out her broken limbs, pushing the bones back into their proper places, and drew some snow towards him, melting it with his hands and breath as he rubbed it over her skin. It turned pink with blood and the water soaked into the ground. Some of the darkness crawling over the clearing lifted. He combed her thin blond hair with his fingers and put two small stones on her closed eyes.

"No feel cold. No feel wind." The blessing of the dead sounded better in his own language, but her spirit would not understand it. "You hurt so much here; now, see. I put your body rest. Dirt be good bed. No come back here; see how sad? We find bad lady; bring you blood on her head. You no feel hurt. You no feel sad. You sleep and be warm, small girl."

He kissed the bruised forehead, and felt the darkness ease a little.

"Merlin?" Terence's voice was low in his ear. "What do you think we should do?"

"Dirt so bad. It have dark in it, no like. We help it push dark out, maybe ask…ask…them up there." He pointed to the sky. "High Power. We ask them, say, please take out dark out dirt."

"What's he mean?" Gawain asked.

Merlin looked up to see Master staring down at him. "He says…the ground is corrupted? and we need to cleanse it. And pray for God to purify it, I think." Master looked keenly at Terence. "Will that break the spell?"

"It will weaken it. And I think that white set of runes is keeping the mist around the castle. I do know how to break that one, but we need to get to it."

Tending to the bodies went more quickly with all of them at the task, although the other three left Merlin to wash the woman alone. They seemed embarrassed by her lack of clothes, or maybe thought it disrespectful to see her naked. He knew Master did not look at women when their clothes showed so very much of their bodies, and made him turn away too, saying it was rude to gaze at them.

"Very sorry lady," he told her, keeping his eyes averted. "No be angry I touch you. You dead - can no wash self, so I do for you, as honor to you, lady."

He was very careful, in case her spirit felt disrespected because he ignored some custom she expected. The smell of blood would eventually draw wolves and scavengers, but they had no time for burial. Merlin put stones on the victim's eyes, told each of their spirits to rest and sleep, and hoped for the best.

Terence inspected the drawings inside the ring as he finished.

"Once we pull out this dagger, I think all of this will vanish, and we will be able to get to the mist spell. Morgause might feel it, though."

"That's a risk I'm willing to take," Master replied grimly.

Merlin joined Terence by the little heap of ashes as Master and Master Gawain took up defensive positions on either side of the circle of patterns. The manservant gripped the dagger and tugged at it, straining. Merlin took hold of the other's hands and helped him pull, trying to coax his magic to help them. His powers remained too unsettled, and hid away in a corner of his mind as the dagger pulled out in small jolts.

The ground breathed a sigh of relief when the tip of the dagger came free. The blood soaked into the stones and vanished, leaving the white mist-spell open to their manipulation. Terence passed the dagger to Merlin and set to work on the fire. He said a strange word three times, very sternly, before a flame sprang up. The lights in the skulls flared in response, casting the whole clearing in flickering light.

Pulling a half-burnt stick from the fire, Terence made small marks on the mist spell where the arms of different patterns joined. He stepped carefully so as not to disturb anything, and returned to stand over the fire.

"May I use more of your power?" he asked Merlin politely.

"Yes." The magic throbbing on the air made him curious, made his own magic stir nervously, though it still hid from the darkness. Terence clasped Merlin's hand and lifted his own arm.

"Lift your arm too, palm up."

Merlin swept his right hand up, and Terence closed his eyes.

"Fréamiht héafodwindes, æwielmes, ond earda, ábræce galdorléoð byrde!"

Merlin felt a little surge, and the fire flared, and then the tension snapped and trickled off into nothing. Terence dropped his head, breathing hard. His fingers clenched on Merlin's hand.

"What happen?"

"I'm not strong enough."

"I help you magic. You try more." He shut his eyes and reached more consciously for his power, coaxing it out of hiding.

"Fréamiht héafodwindes, æwielmes, ond earda," Terence chanted again. "Fréamiht héafodwindes, æwielmes, ond earda! Abræce galdorléoð byrde!"

The spell caught this time, gripping his magic and drinking it. Merlin opened his eyes to see the skull lights snuffing out in great clouds of smoke, their little fire burning hot, and the dusty white runes of the mist spell turning a dirty brown and melting into smoke. The fog around the castle thinned, letting them glimpse the outer battlements and brightly lit windows. Terence grinned at him, and Merlin grinned back. They'd done it. Their magic together had done it.

"No." Master whispered. "No."

Merlin squinted at through the fading mist and saw an unfamiliar banner flying from the main tower. The flags of the king and the lords were gone, replaced by the same ones that fluttered over the camp. Twisting oak, rampant wolf, thorny rose, others he could not see clearly.

Master broke into a run, and Merlin leaped after him, fighting through the dense snow. Trees snapped at his face, and he put his hands in front of him and stayed in the prince's wake through the brush and thickets. Master was just wise enough to stay away from the five king's camp and approach the castle from an unguarded direction. Merlin caught up as they reached the moat, sobbing quietly for lack of breath, and looked back to see Master Gawain and Terence close behind.

"Arthur-" Gawain hissed.

"I have to know."

"If they catch you-"

"I have to know."

A stench pummeled Merlin's nose, and he looked down to see that they stood where a latrine let out down a shaft on the castle wall. Master looked at the thing in a way Merlin did not like, then ducked inside the shaft, his feet scrabbling for holds and vanishing. He though he heard Master Gawain muttering something about 'catching crap,' to which Terence snickered softly, before the young red-head followed. Merlin steeled himself and scrambled into the shaft, gagging on the stench as he reached for handholds in the dark, trying hard not to think of why the walls were slick. He heard Terence grunting and spitting behind him.

They crawled out of the toilet hole ready to throw up back down it.

"Perfect idea, Arthur," Gawain muttered. "They won't have to see us. They'll smell us coming three hallways ahead!"

"At least no one needed to use it while we-"

"Shut up, Terence."

Master peered out through a crack in the door, then pushed it open and beckoned to them. The hallways were quiet. Dead knights and men-at-arms from both sides lay together, still clinging to their weapons. Skeleton warriors trotted in small packs, forcing them to take refuge in alcoves and behind tapestries. Master led them unerringly, keeping to little-used passages and servant ways, until they came to a hidden balcony over the throne room floor.

Morgause stood with the other kings at the head of the chamber, her dress a little worse for the battle and her hair wild. A crowd of people swarmed on the floor below, jostling each other. None looked like soldiers.

The door at the other end of the hall slammed open, and the crowd turned, hissing. Merlin could not see the object of their scorn, only the part of the crowd close to the dais and Morgause, tall and smirking with vicious pleasure. The crowd parted a little, allowing two black-cloaked knights through. They dragged a third man in scorched and battered armor, and the crowd spat at him as he passed. The king's ceremonial crown sat tilted on the side of his head.

Morgause laughed, red tongue swiping her lips, and the four kings closed behind her like scavenging carrion.

"Uther Pendragon."

Master choked beside him.

The two knights threw the king down in front of his former throne, kicking him in the backs of the knees when he tried to stand.

"Or should I say _brother_?" Morgause descended to the floor in front of the king. "You do have a pretty kingdom, for a man with such a hollow rule. Oh, don't look at me like that. Your son fled like the hedge-born coward he is, and I hardly see your knights here. Did they finally see you for who you are, brother? A man who blusters because he has no real power. But then, you never were much one for _real_ power, were you?"

"You are no sister of mine." Uther's voice was ragged and full of hate.

"You're just jealous. Like you always were."

Uther shifted on his knees and chuckled, low, dry, with no humor in it. "You were the jealous one, Morg. And you had a kingdom."

Morgause's face twisted, and she struck him across the face. "Lot was a scullion. I married him before I knew what I really was. I am no queen."

She stepped back from Uther and spread her arms, the tattered red fabric of her dress streaming around her like rivulets of blood. "Kings come to my aid! Your people kiss my feet. The dead themselves come at my call. I am a _goddess_ , Uther."

Tension rolled off Master, and Merlin saw blood between his fingers where he was clenching his hands. Both Terence and Gawain stared at the witch with deadly hate, and he swallowed, wanting to leave this place and this mad-woman and the darkness around her.

"Mistress!" A hunched man in a blue cloak limped out from the shifting crowd below.

"Yes?"

"Great Mistress." The man bowed extravagantly, and Merlin felt a brief surge of scorn. It was no proper bow of adoration for a liege, just a flattering bend meant for personal gain. Lickspittle.

"Please, Great Mistress, let us have him. He's killed many of our friends. Our families." He bowed again. "Please; you did promise us vengeance."

Morgause tilted her head, surveying Uther, then the mob, who leaned forward, rustling. She turned abruptly, striding towards the throne and draping herself into the seat, fingers clenched on the arms.

"I did. You were always honorable, brother, and you wouldn't want to see me go back on an oath, would you?" She smiled benevolently at the straining, breathless crowd that filled the throne room. "He's yours. But do bring me the crown."

A moment of breathless silence suspended itself for a moment, before it crashed in the triumphant yells of the rabble. Uther reared to his feet, pulling a short knife from his armor as they descended on him, shrieking, grabbing from all directions at once.

Pieces of armor crashed aside and he vanished beneath the crush of fists and feet and swinging staves. Screams clashed below them, whether Uther or the howl of the mob Merlin could not tell. Master trembled beside him, tears starting in his eyes, and Merlin caught Terence's gaze. They should go.

"Master," he whispered, tugging at Arthur's arm to try and pull him back the way they had come.

"Father. Father." Master hung onto the edge of the balcony, eyes fixed on the scene below.

A sorceress tore herself free from the group, a circlet of gold clutched in her bloody fist. She ran to Morgause and fell at the witch's feet, offering the crown to her. Morgause took it with a sweet smile and settled it on her head, the sorceress still groveling at her feet.

"Father?"

The horde parted for a moment, away from their victim, and Merlin saw blood and flesh, a shape that still writhed on the reddened floor.

Master's scream of grief and denial was drowned in the crazed sound of the mob below, who fell back to their bloody work like wild dogs. Terence abruptly flung himself across their small group and grabbed Merlin's wrist, tugging at his magic again.

"Bedyrne ús! Astýre ús þanonweard!"

Master cursed and screamed as a whirlwind wrapped around them, spinning Merlin's head, ripping his sense of direction to tatters, and drowning sound and sight. The balcony dropped out from underneath them, and he saw the floor, far below, then stone.

Wet, cold stone, and wind fluttering across him. Dim light, rushing water. Merlin pushed up off the ground and recognized the damp, earthy feel of an old cave.

Beside him, Master clutched the moss and wept bitterly.


	11. Chapter 11

**_A/N: In trying to write this chapter, I realized that having Uther die off-screen in the last chapter was preventing me from getting a strong reaction out of Arthur that would keep the story moving. Therefore, the latter part of Chapter 10 has been edited to have Uther die on-screen. There are no changes to the plot, just the scene structure._**

 ** _Replies to guest-user reviews are at the end. Thank you to the reviewers, and welcome to the new followers! :)_**

* * *

A hand pressed against Arthur's shoulder, and he slapped it away. He failed. Kingdom fallen, his father, oh God, his _father-_

He choked, the tears coming too fast for his breath to keep pace with them. The others reached for him, eyes full of compassion, and he lashed out with fists and feet, not caring where they landed. Could they not just let him alone? He was weak enough without someone staring at him while his soul crumbled. At least Terence had the grace to kneel quietly aside while he grieved.

"It didn't burn you out…did it?" Gawain sounded worried as he touched the servant's shoulder.

Terence shook his head. "No, but- _Aah!_ " He shuddered and hugged himself, Merlin bending over him.

Gawain turned his attention back to the prince, and Arthur glared at him and his reaching hands. "Arthur-"

"Go!" He threw Gawain back as hard as he could and scrambled blindly away.

A small niche in the rocks welcomed him, and he curled into it, feeling the damp through his armor, the moss that coated the stones padding his head and shoulder.

 _Father is dead._

Every decision he made played and replayed in front of his eyes. What went wrong?

 _They tore him to pieces like dogs._

The defenses? Each secure. He'd checked every one personally.

 _He's dead. Blood, blood, so much blood._

 _Spellcaster. Witch._

Uther's body was not the first she saw defiled. He had focused on the castle during their time in the clearing, on giving his men a chance to fight, not on the four people laying dead in the ring of runes.

What did magic do to your soul to make you like that? Capable of torturing, slaughtering, all for your own power? The four victims. His father. Whoever had died of magic in the battle. Now Morgause was left with all his people in her hands, with no prince capable of defending them from her, and she could do with them whatever she wished. That mob would be unleashed on the people he had sworn to protect. And he was prince.

He was king.

All the blame rested on his shoulders, and his alone. He was not strong enough to protect his people, and now he must see them suffer.

He lay until the damp crept through his cloak and armor, seeping down to his skin, welcoming the heaviness in his swollen eyelids that promised sleep and oblivion.

"Alright, princess."

Gawain loomed over his niche.

"You've every right to grieve your father, but we're in hostile territory and we need to move."

Arthur grunted and turned his face away as his cousin manhandled him out to the cave floor.

"But first you need to apologize to Merlin for kicking him in the face. He's overwrought and thinks you hate him."

 _Merlin._

Terence had drawn on his slave's power twice, and the boy had nearly shone with it, giving effortlessly to spells that left Terence ready to collapse. He could see the manservant now, sprawled on the ground in an exhausted sleep.

 _Warlock._ Rare and unique, full of magic as old and strong as the bones of the earth. The boy was too powerful for his own good. When he realized he could break loose from Arthur's control, realized the full extent of what he could become… A deep instinct told Arthur that Merlin could crush Morgause between his thumb and forefinger if he ever decided to study sorcery.

Arthur shoved himself to his feet and scanned the cavern for Merlin. The slave sat by a pool of water, arms wrapped around his knees, staring off into the darkness where underground stream rushed, rippling the water. He turned as Arthur approached, showing him a starkly bruised face that bled a little from the lip.

"Master?" The boy shifted, bowing as Arthur crouched beside him, and the prince's heart ached with what he knew had to do.

"Merlin." He tucked his fingers gently under the bruised chin for the last time and lifted Merlin's head, brushing a little dry moss from his forehead where it had rested against the ground. "I'm sorry."

 _So, so terribly sorry._

"I didn't mean to kick you."

"Master not angry?"

"No. No, not at all. Come here."

He put an arm around Merlin's shoulders and drew the boy close.

"You remember how you asked me to to put you down if you went bad?"

"I remember."

"I'm not going to let you go bad. I can't let you go that far. But you're so powerful, and I can't let that magic turn on you."

Merlin pushed off Arthur's chest and searched his face. "It make me like bad lady? Make me kill people?"

"Yes. It will, sooner than later. All those people who killed the king? They were sorcerers. I won't ever let you be like them."

"What do?"

Arthur took a deep breath and pulled his dagger from his boot. Merlin's gaze snapped to it, and his fingers clenched in Arthur's cloak, his eyes wide and frightened.

"I don't hate you, Merlin. I'm doing this to protect you. It won't hurt, I promise."

The boy nodded and closed his eyes. Arthur ignored the shaking, bloodstained lip and kissed Merlin's forehead, breathing the scent of moss and dirt and smoke before tucking his slave's face into the crook of his neck.

This point, just below the collar, would do it. Sever the spine, clean, painless, quick. Merlin shuddered hard when his fingers touched it, and he cried out softly. Arthur could feel the boy's pulse, his desperately pounding heart, his breath, his mouth, pushed against Arthur's neck to smoother the sounds of fear that the prince could feel shuddering against him. Arthur clenched his teeth, hanging onto the dagger.

He'd seen the face of evil twice in one night. Merlin was too good, too gentle, for that twisted darkness to ever fall on him. The last of Arthur's subjects, and he would, on his life, keep him safe from the magic that had claimed all the rest.

"Forgive me."

The steel shone in the dim light, and his free hand tightened on Merlin's head.

"Hellfire and damnation, Arthur - _what are you doing_?"

Gawain grabbed Arthur's wrist, brow crumpled, his mouth open in shock.

"You saw her, saw them." Arthur whispered.

"My mother?"

"I can't let Merlin become that. I can't, Gawain. He doesn't deserve it."

"He doesn't deserve a knife in the spine either. Terence!"

"He's a warlock, Gawain." He had to do it, before Merlin's trembling broke his will.

"Who you have hidden from the king for months now. Terence, you slug-a-bed!"

"Mumph."

"Arthur is killing Merlin!"

"No, he is no- _What?!_ Sire?" Terence stumbled into his view, bugeyed.

"It will turn him," Arthur whispered. "I have to save him."

"Magic doesn't - magically - make people evil!"

"Why did she do it, then?" Arthur demanded. "What made her do that?"

"What normally makes people evil, you sod?! Now stop trying to stab your poor terrified slave in the neck!"

"I can't let it take him!" Arthur wrestled against the other, trying to get control of the knife, and Merlin's arms went all the way around him, clinging hard as his tears started to dampen Arthur's neck and run down his collar.

"Arthur, if magic made people evil, Terence would be three-headed fire-breathing demon by now and rule England with an iron scepter!"

"What?" Surprise made Arthur's grip come loose enough for Gawain to yank the knife away and smack him across the head with the flat of the blade.

"He's a faery, Wart." Gawain sighed. "They're practically made of magic. Even Mother doesn't have as much faery blood in her as Terence does."

Arthur stared between them. "Then, how is…?"

Merlin was the more powerful of the two, and he was human. Wasn't he?

"Merlin's just got a trace of faery blood," Terence explained. "I'm full faery, but my magic is-" he hesitated. "Different. My skills lie on a different line than Merlin's."

"But he's no less powerful," Gawain asserted.

"Well-" Terence grimaced, self-depreciating.

"You aren't." Gawain turned back to Arthur and shifted his tack, reaching for the prince's shoulders past Merlin's huddled back. "Does an innocent boy deserve to be murdered for something he _might_ do sometime in the future? Do you want his blood on your hands?"

"Master, please," Merlin whispered, his breath warm on Arthur's neck. "I be good. Very good always. No want die."

Arthur pushed him back, holding hard onto the slave's quivering shoulders. "Swear to me. Swear to me on your soul you won't seek evil."

"My oath belong you." Merlin's eyes were somber. "My magic stay by you, help you defend always."

The prince nodded, scrubbing at his nose with his sleeve. He believed the boy, though how he could was beyond his ken. Merlin's arms wrapped around Arthur's head, and the prince found himself squashed against Merlin's narrow chest until he lost his balance and landed half on the ground, half on Merlin's legs. Merlin began to sway, rocking them both back and forth, and Arthur struggled hard to fight down his sobbing even as the boy's embrace crushed it mercifully out of him.

"Merlin." Gawain's voice was gentle. "We're still too close to the castle. We need to go."

"Master hurt down deep inside. Need rest."

"Milord, there's snow falling outside. It should cover our tracks if we move now."

Gawain pulled at Arthur, drawing him gently from Merlin's grip, and he stood reluctantly. What they did now seemed of little account or meaning - there was nowhere to go, nothing to do.

The pale pink sky lightened as they trekked away from the cave, heads bent against the wind. Gawain took the lead, pressing on as the sky turned to a flat gray as daylight came. Arthur stumbled over his own feet, feeling the effects of a night's sleep lost.

They stopped at a stream and broke the ice to drink, numbing their fingers in the brisk water.

"We're far enough out," Gawain noted. "We should try an make the rendezvous point."

"That's east from here, on the other side of the castle," Arthur replied.

"Anywhere else you want to go?"

Camelot. Home. "No."

* * *

Merlin kept his eyes fixed on Master's back and walked, putting each foot forward by force of long habit. The snow did not stop falling, and the air seemed full of driving ice.

They'd only halted for brief moments, pressing past their hunger and exhaustion because walking kept the cold away. His toes were numb in his boots, and his nose and fingers. His stomach reminded him harshly that he'd hurled up yesterday's lunch and supper, and he reminded it that they had gone longer without food before.

The snow was thick here, and Master traded places with Master Gawain to break trail, breath heaving in great clouds on the air with the effort. The clouds broke overhead, letting cold sunlight through to glare on the whiteness and burn their eyes.

Terence collapsed first, falling gracelessly into the snow. They mistook the sound for snow flopping from a branch until Gawain looked back and called out. Master halted, swaying, as Master Gawain floundered back along their ragged trail to bend over his servant.

Merlin's heart stayed in his mouth until Terence wriggled a little and groaned. Master Gawain hauled him up and put him over his shoulders, tromping back and nodding to Arthur to continue. The servant shifted himself and the fabric of his cloak to try and provide Master Gawain with some extra warmth. The hunched young man grunted his thanks.

When Master fell to his knees, Merlin touched his shoulder and went around him to take the front position. He knew their approximate destination well enough to keep them moving in its general direction, and the others were tired.

"Merlin-"

"I break snow now," he panted. "My turn do it."

The shadows of the trees crawled in long blue lines across the snowy ground. Merlin felt no warmth from the westing sun, or from his fingers, or his feet. He watched his legs go up and down, and wondered how they kept going, or if he could get them to stop.

"Gawain?"

Merlin looked over his shoulder to see Master Gawain stagger and fall. He did not get up, neither did Terence move where he lay on top of the other youth. Master stumbled towards them, falling clumsily to his knees beside the pair, and Merlin got himself turned around to join them.

Gawain and Terence still breathed, but they could not go on.

"Shelter," Master wheezed. "We need to find shelter."

Terence was heavier than he looked, but Merlin just managed to lift him as Master got a grip on Master Gawain's body. He heaved his cousin over his shoulder, caught his balance, and then his eyes rolled.

"Master?"

Master blinked, shaking his head, took a step, and fell headlong. Merlin shouldered Terence back onto the ground and rolled Master Gawain off Master, shaking the prince's shoulder to rouse him.

Nothing.

He couldn't drag all of them to safety, but he forced his freezing fingers to unlace their armor and pack them all close together to try and conserve some of their heat. He lay down in the pile with them, shuddering from the cold.

Muffled noises carried across the snow, the sound of horses and men. Merlin put his head down and lay still, hoping they might go unnoticed.

"There's a trail!"

Other shouts, jangling harness. Merlin peaked up to see the shadows of men and horses grotesquely long on the ground, soldiers and a few knights, by their dress.

A man in livery he did not recognize flailed up their trail, leaning on his spear. His eyes met Merlin's and he stopped.

"Sire!"

Merlin tensed, hanging onto his motionless companions as hoof-beats pounded towards them. A hooded, mounted knight burst through the trees, snow falling from his shoulders, and drew up his horse, leaping to the ground.

"God have mercy- Kai!"

A second man, also mounted, pushed his horse past the man who had discovered them. "Father?"

The knight flung back his hood, revealing a grizzled face and short gray beard. "Bivouac in the shelter of that cave we passed, and prepare the camp to treat them. Leave your horse."

The young man flung himself to the ground, shouting orders at the others, and vanished into the trees.

"Thane, help me get them on the horses."

The soldier dropped his spear and approached, reaching for Master's arm. Merlin's stomach twisted, and he lunged forward, sinking his teeth into the man's exposed right hand. No one touched his master. He would die first.

A hand grabbed his collar, and he twisted in the grip.

"Easy lad, easy," the knight crooned. "That's the prince there, Thane, the boy's bound to be protective. I've got him now."

Merlin went limp, felt the knight's hold ease a little, and struck out, flailing desperately and fumbling at the buckles on his cloak so he could slip free. His body moved sluggishly, and the knight reeled him back in effortlessly, lifting him completely off the ground and draping him over the front of his horse's saddle. He tried to slide off and get free, but the man held him in place.

"Bring the prince here," the knight called.

Master's body went over the saddle next to him, limp, his mouth lolling open a little. Merlin stopped struggling and let himself hang where he was. Master was in no condition to fight or get away, and it would not be right to run away and leave him.

The horse was warm where he touched its hide, brown with one white forefoot. It snorted and blew, turning its head against the knight when he came and took it by the bridle and bit. Behind them, the soldier led the other horse, a tall gray, with Gawain and Terence hanging limply over its back. Merlin shifted close to Master, the saddlehorn jabbing him uncomfortably, and watched the snow pass by beneath his nose as the last flicker of sunlight vanished over the horizon.

* * *

 _ **Kate: I needed at least one magically literate (and good) character, what with all these baddies running around. :-) The dynamic between Arthur and Merlin is incredible no matter which way or situation you write them in - they're just good characters. I'm very gratified you're enjoying this interpretation of them...even if I did kill Uther. So sorry, no Uther drama. He got to be enough of a witch-burning drama queen...king? in the series, now he gets to give way to his (significantly more awesome) son. But hopefully there will be other drama. I'll see what the characters have to say about freaking out over stuff. Thank you for the reviews and glad you're having fun reading.**_

 _ **Manni: Merlin is a sweet cinnamon roll far to good for this world. Morgause on the other hand? No worries, she will get what's coming to her, but defeating the skeleton army isn't going to be**_ **that** _ **easy. ;)**_

 _ **Guest: I hope Google translate is treating you well. Thank you for reading and review** **ing!**_


	12. Chapter 12

_**A/N: This is shorter than my average chapter, but it seemed contained in itself, so I decided not to add anything else. Also, I am distracted by the Super Bowl [the biggest and most importantest grid-iron football game in America.] My home state's team is one of the contenders, and as they were subjected to a humiliating defeat two years ago, we're all blue, orange, excited, nervous...and not focusing on writing so much.**_

 _ **Thank you all so much for the kind reviews. I'm privileged to be writing for such a lovely and encouraging set of readers. We are now updated with review replies (see end of chapter)! And the outcome of the football game. But you didn't come here to read about my football angst. Back to our characters!**_

* * *

The cave smelled of smoke and horse. Brush and scrub grew over the mouth, hiding the light of the camp, if not the deep furrows in the snow outside. Horses stood packed together at the back, chomping fodder in their nosebags, and the rest of the party scampered around two small fires.

One of the men dragged Merlin off the horse, putting him over his shoulder and carrying him to the fireside to drop him on his back on a blanket. Merlin lifted his head to look at the soldier tugging at his boots and swallowed. The man was huge, bulging muscles pulling at his tunic sleeves, broad hands, close cropped hair. Turning, Merlin saw Master nearby, unresponsive, the grey-bearded knight quickly removing his clothes.

He knew how Master would feel when he woke up - confused, aching, filthy - or worse, he would wake up to find someone on top of him, grasping his body like a hunk of choice meat. Master did not deserve that. Merlin reached deep down inside for his magic, and it slid away. The huge soldier bending over Merlin stripped him effortlessly, tossing his clothes to another man before pawing off his own shirt, and the boy could hold onto nothing but fear.

 _Magic. Magic. Think of magic._

Brawny arms lifted his naked body, circled it, crushed him close to the man's chest, and he couldn't see Master anymore, just skin and hair. Merlin twisted, and to his surprise, the soldier allowed it, helped him turn, even pointed to where Master lay pale and exposed nearby. The man stayed very close, pulling Merlin back against him, so terribly warm that it almost hurt.

"You should bring the prince here, sire," the soldier rumbled. "The boy isn't going to settle otherwise."

The gray knight grunted, put Master over his shoulder and brought him to where Merlin lay and set him down, pushing his cold body close against Merlin's side.

"There's your liege, hey?"

Merlin ignored him and put his fingers on Master's neck, feeling his pulse, slow, but there, his body, so very cold, and his blue lips. He pulled Master closer, hoping to warm him, and the soldier at his back helped. The gray knight chuckled, then removed his mail and shirt to lay down against Master's back. Merlin reached his arms all the way around Master, clutching the limp form and bracing himself for whatever was intended for them.

Someone covered them all with warm wool, layer after heavy layer, and Merlin whimpered as his toes began to ache. The ache spread, slow and deep, and he shuddered. Master whined and shook, teeth chattering, his eyes starting to peel open and flutter shut again. The soldier Merlin had bitten crouched over them, holding out a steaming cup. Big hands shifted his head, propping him up a little and opening his mouth to accept the drink.

Warm broth poured into his mouth and down his throat, rich and salty. He swallowed without protest, overcome by the flavor, panting between eager gulps as his stomach seemed to claw up through his throat to get hold of the sustenance. The two soldiers and the knight laughed at him, not unkindly.

"More?" the crouching soldier asked.

For what price? Merlin shook his head and lay back, looking up at the soldier pressed against him and gathering all his nerve, sick of suspense. "What you want do, do me. Leave others."

Confusion clouded the man's eyes for a moment, then horror mixed with pity. "No one is going to hurt any of you."

"Get him more broth, Thane," the gray knight rumbled. "You're dangerously cold, boy. You and your master, and Percival here is the warmest thing available to help you. The others are just over there, getting warm as well."

"Your clothes were keeping you cold," Percival said. "You'll have them back as soon as they are dry."

Merlin hesitated, disbelieving, but he couldn't feel anything wanton in the way he was held or in the body pushed against his, and the man still wore his trousers. Thane returned with another cup of broth, and Master's eyes finally opened fully as Merlin finished it. The prince shifted around, blearily trying to orient himself, and caught sight of the gray knight's face.

"Ector," he breathed, his features relaxing.

Master knew him, then. The tightness inside Merlin eased.

"Your highness. I'd feared we had come too late."

Master's face fell. "You did. Camelot has fallen."

"We were in time to save you," the knight replied. "That is enough for now."

* * *

Arthur emerged into wakefulness, eyes struggling to open against swollen lids. Ector and the solider - Percival - were gone, leaving only Merlin next to him, molded into Arthur's side and snoring quietly. The cave was dark and full of sleeping forms highlighted by the stuttering fire. One of the wool blankets had slipped, and Arthur pulled it back, reaching around Merlin to make sure it covered him as well. The boy snuffled and wiggled, rousing.

"Master?"

"Just pulling a blanket back."

Merlin grunted and tugged the fabric up to his chin as Arthur settled back down.

"I ask question?"

He could see half of Merlin's face in the dim light, cheeks shadowed and highlighted in stark contrasts, eyes shifting all over Arthur's face.

"Yes."

"Why you afraid me?"

 _Afraid?_ "I'm not afraid of you."

"You decide kill me," Merlin replied.

"I only did that because-"

"Because you afraid me." The acute sadness in his slave's eyes pierced him.

"I'm sorry. I should never have even thought of hurting you like that."

"But you still have inside your head - to kill me."

Arthur looked away, ashamed. Even now the thought pressed at him with the memory of Morgause's magic, and Merlin's. Maybe the boy was better off - safer - dead.

"To be slave is to belong master," Merlin said. "This belong leave nothing to slave; all belong master. My will belong you, so whatever you say _Do,_ I do, and I learn what please you, so you no have say to do, because I do before you say it. Master do to slave as please him, and slave no say word, no run, no fight, only wait, take whatever thing from master's hand. So when new master get slave, tell him, You belong me, there nothing slave can do but kneel at feet and say inside of self, _Please, if hear, if some hear, let Master be kind."_

Merlin took a deep breath, glancing over Arthur's shoulder, and shifting close until their faces were inches apart and he could whisper earnestly to Arthur alone.

"This how magic is to sorcerer. Bad master tell slave do bad things, and slave go do, because master say. It good slave do as master say, but when what master say bad, then to do is bad - you know, you tell me this. So sorcerer be very good sorcerer, and still very bad person.

"When hairy master bring me you, I afraid you. I always afraid new master. I wait for you hurt me, because I know you have power - so much power. Power to do all things you want to me. Power to make me do all things you say. "

Understanding filled Merlin's gaze. "This how you afraid magic."

A lump choked Arthur's throat.

"Remember you, Master, when magic make you afraid. Remember you slave, who belong you, and you power that you have over slave. I see many master. Their power make them cruel, make like hurt slaves, because that make them feel they have so much power. Magic do this too. But you carry much power too, and still open kind hand to me when I nothing to you."

A stray tear ran sideways over Arthur's nose, cold on his face in the chilly air.

"Sorcerer can do same. I no afraid you anymore, only want be much loyal to Master. Please, no be afraid me."

Arthur laughed, a strangled noise. "You're kind of the first good sorcerer I've ever known. It's…a jump."

"You first kind master I have. Understands."

* * *

 _ **Manni: To be completely honest, Arthur startled**_ **me** _ **, pulling something like that. I didn't think he would do it, and went running frantically to my beta reader, who complained about everything**_ **except** _ **Arthur's reaction. Yikes. But they're okay now, and Gawain will help him get his head on straight. The dragon, on the other hand, refuses to show his scaly face despite my coaxing. He's around this story somewhere, though, lurking and being cryptic. And badass. :D**_

 _ **Kate: Oh goodness. That is a rough day. I'm glad this could lift your spirits. One can only do so much with "Kill all the sorcerers with fire!" and frankly I find the question of what makes people do stuff, and what makes that stuff good and bad far more interesting. Although one must have a wild-eyed antagonist in there somewhere to drive people into action. It's not too hard to keep things unpredictable when I sometimes don't know what is happening next, and hopefully I can pull that through to the end. Thank you so much for reviewing!**_

 _ **Guest: I am honestly humbled that you consider this story worth not just your reading time, but your translation time as well. Thank you so much for your support and reviews.**_

 _ **After a sorrowful and ignominious defeat two years ago (43-8), I am happy to say that my dear Broncos won Super Bowl 50. We have all honked our car horns and yelled in the streets and plastered our newspapers with full sheet spreads of player pictures and otherwise celebrated in style, and now I can stop worrying about them and write again.**_


	13. Chapter 13

_**This is the longest I've ever made you wait for an update, and I apologize. The procrastination was strong with this one - so strong, in fact, that I sat down and started working on my taxes to escape working on it. Ugh. But here it is now - you have successfully kept me accountable. Congratulations. Here are the guest review replies. Leave a review, and I'll reply to you too. ...Not to mention that I would really love feedback on this monster of a chapter.**_

 _ **Kate: Well, two sides of the same coin, right? I do love writing these two together. Merlin is a sweet cinnamon roll, and I feel terrible for tormenting him and then do it anyway, because whumped Merlin is either adorable or awesome, and both are beautiful things to behold. Football was good, actually. We won this year, and all us fans got to drive around honking our car horns in obnoxious celebration.**_

 _ **Manni: Arthur's not a bad person, just one who's been deprived of information. Thankfully he has a good source now, which is helping him quite a bit. And Merlin's not about to lose the first nice person he can remember meeting in practically forever. Hopefully that will help him recover himself, and then he can really kick some butt. :)**_

 _ **Guest: It felt short to me too. This one is longer. Thank you so much for the review - I can understand most of what you write.**_

* * *

The morning dawned cold, sharp frost coating the bushes outside and chilling the cave. Merlin poked his nose out from under the blankets and promptly pulled back into the warm pocket beside Master. He could see his clothes, hanging on sticks near the fire, and had no desire to scurry across the cold space in his underpants to get them. The horses stood all huddled together at the back of the cave, and Master Gawain and Terence slept on in separate bedrolls with soldiers next to them, keeping them warm as Percival had warmed him last night. The rest of the party was gone, their bedrolls packed next to their sleeping places and a shallow pot of food beside the fire, bubbling a little on the side closest to the flames.

His stomach growled and clawed at the inside of his ribs, demanding attention. The sooner he dressed and served Master food, the sooner he could eat himself. Merlin grabbed a fortifying breath. The cold struck him as he slithered hastily out from beside Master, and he gasped, flailing to where his clothes hung. They smelled a little of smoke, but they were perfectly, magnificently, beautifully warm. Warm trousers and warm tunic and warm socks and dry boots, cloak like a gentle embrace all the way around him. His teeth stopped chattering as he prodded the fire and added a few sticks.

Master shifted, started to stretch, and promptly curled back in on himself, eyes going wide as the cold slapped him awake. Merlin took Master's clothes from where they hung, bundling them tight to keep their warmth.

"You wake?" he asked.

Master mumbled, sleepy, grouchy noises, and stayed burrowed into the blankets.

"Here clothes." Merlin stuffed them down inside the bedroll beside Master.

Master ignored them. "Where are Gawain and Terence?"

"They sleep." He pointed, and Master relaxed.

"And the others?"

Merlin shrugged. "They gone when I wake."

Master dressed and left his blankets to check on Master Gawain and Terence, who shifted but did not rouse when he touched them. The soldier laying next to Gawain exchanged a few low words with the prince, who nodded.

"Morgause is looking for us," Master explained as he returned to the fire. "Sir Ector has gone to lay false trails and attempt to contact any survivors."

He could not feel the witch's magic now. They were not close to the castle, and she did not know where to look. He found a bowl that looked clean and spooned hot porridge into it for Master to eat. The prince ate eagerly, slurping in his haste. No stream flowed in this cave, so Merlin could not wash the dishes. He shook out the blankets and started to carefully roll them as Master spooned more porridge into the bowl.

"Here."

Merlin turned from the blankets to see Master holding the bowl out, steam drifting in the firelight.

"Stop your fussing and come eat."

He bent his head and held out his hands, waiting for the prince to set the warm bowl in his palms rather than taking it. Master needed extra help not being afraid of him, so he must be especially obedient.

"I know you haven't had anything since day before yesterday."

He remembered that? Merlin knelt down with bowl and spoon, trying not to drink the good food straight out of the dish. Master sat on a rock with his head drooping to his knees, staring at the ground. Merlin pitied him - father and home taken so very cruelly by such brutal people. The prince would be sad for a long time over that.

The young man Ector called Kai returned while he ate, stamping snow from his boots in the cave mouth before coming to the fire. He was a boy, just barely, Merlin realized, perhaps a few years older than Master. His short hair shone raven black, and a thin scruff covered his strong jaw. He shed furs and heavy gray cloak off his broad shoulders with a sigh of relief.

"Sire," he greeted Master. "You look better this morning."

Master inclined his head. "Thanks to you. Did you find any survivors?"

"It appears the people are mostly unaffected. Morgause is not hurting them - directly at least." Kai unwound his scarf and shook it out, crouching down next to the fire while he rubbed his hands together. "Her army of skeletons and the mercenaries have them frightened, but nothing more. Most of them are returning home rather than brave the forest. Any surviving men-at-arms are hiding among them."

"And the knights?"

Kai bit his lip. "Sir Leon escaped, with his squire, and Sir Ywain. They are nursing their wounds in another cave two furlongs east from here."

"Who else?" Master crouched beside him.

"A small group made it out the south exits during the battle. The physician is with them, Lady Isobel, Gawain's brothers. No one else."

"That's impossible," Master whispered.

"There could be others," Kai allowed. His voice said he believed no such thing.

Master put his head in his hands, hiding his face and winding his fingers into his hair, pulling at it as his body started to shudder. "I should have been there."

"Then you would be dead as well, my liege." Kai's mouth quirked.

Master's face contorted oddly, trying to smile, then fell again, crumpling. Merlin set down his empty bowl and scooted closer, wrapping one arm around Master's leg and leaning close against him. The prince's body shuddered, and he pressed one arm over his mouth, sleeve crammed between his teeth. A single gasp escaped before he muffled himself again, bowing over his knees, shoulders jolting with every breath. Tears sprang in Merlin's eyes at his master's grief, and he dared to run his fingers through the velvety golden hair at the nape of his neck, for whatever comfort that offered. Kai sat stoically by, eyes turned away to afford the prince some privacy.

Master Gawain stirred where he lay and opened his eyes, looking disoriented. The soldier beside him rose and brought the young man his clothes in silence. Master Gawain dressed hastily inside the bundle of blankets and crawled out to Terence's side, waking his servant with gentle concern. Both of them exchanged low words, glancing often at Master. Terence dressed and came out to curl himself around a bowl of food as Master Gawain approached Kai.

"It appears my servant and I are indebted to you."

Kai rose. "It is our honor." He held out a hand. "I don't know your name."

"Gawain, of Orkney." Master Gawain clasped Kai's arm. "My servant is Terence."

"You are Morgause's son?" Kai started back.

"Unfortunately."

A smile started on Kai's face. "I am Kai. Sir Ector is my father."

"I have heard of him." Master Gawain seemed approving of Kai, and Kai of him. "You have news?"

"My father and his men are bringing the survivors here. Your brothers are among them."

Master Gawain nodded. "How many?"

"Seven."

* * *

Arthur breathed, smelling the musk of the cave floor. His body curled in on itself, the tips of Merlin's fingers were gentle on his aching neck, and his mind eased with the simplicity of watching the cracks in the rock just beneath his nose.

He could still see the city, shedding the fog around her, still glittering with torchlight. The men would have stood bravely, met the assault on the walls isolated from each other but determined, thrusting aside ladders, archers following the sound of attack and shooting into the mist beyond the castle where the sound of footsteps and battle cries rang loudest.

Perhaps they thought they could stand. Perhaps, for a while, they had. Then the army of the undead emerged from the fog like ghouls, silent save for the click of toes and heels on the stone, mindless, merciless, invincible. They would try to retreat, through catacombs full of hostile corpses.

So many good men. How many dead?

 _I should have been there._

 _To do what?_

Helplessness was not a feeling Arthur was accustomed to, and now it weighed on him. He had done everything he could have done, had known to do, and it had not been even close to enough. Camelot now rested in the hands of heartless sorceress, despite his efforts, his desperate prayers.

He gasped through his mouth, nose too clogged to breathe. In a way, they lost because they were wrong. The callous violence of the war on magic awakened violence in the sorcerers who resisted, letting the malicious justify their crimes. He stood in approval over the true criminals they executed, tried not to think about the others, innocent and vulnerable as the four villagers laying dead in Morgause's rune-circle, some younger than the small girl Merlin washed and put to rest. His own knife pierced his mind, glittering over the yielded neck of an guiltless boy whose sole crime was Arthur's fear of what he might do if he decided to do something bad.

 _This how you afraid me._

No man who could slaughter a child without a thought could be right, could expect to go on living without anyone striking back at him for his cruelty. No woman who grinned at her own brother's dying screams as mob ripped him to pieces could be leading a just cause.

They were both wrong.

Arthur breathed.

The fire crackled somewhere on the other side of the rocks.

 _I'm sorry, Father._

The thought was bitter, like spitting on Uther's grave or scorning the living king. It hurt all the worse for understanding he knew it all along. The clash of belief dug a rift between them until he left the supper table, dropped his napkin on his plate, didn't say goodnight.

Only night before last? He had lived such a long time since. It seemed years, not hours.

Voices at the front of the cave made Arthur lift his head. The rest of their party rushed in with the small, huddled group of survivors. Gawain's brothers shrieked his name, shoving their guardians aside to run full-tilt into their brother's arms, where he clasped them both tightly to his chest. Leon leaned heavily on Norris's shoulder, favoring his right leg, held up on the other side by Lady Isobel. The youngest of Lord Degray's daughters, she carried herself bravely, despite her torn clothing and knotted auburn hair. Ywain walked alone, cradling his left arm close to his chest. Gaius hunched between two soldiers, moving stiffly. Deep circles darkened the skin below his eyes, and every line on his face was sharp and crumpled.

Sir Ector backed into the cave, sword point raised, gesturing for silence as Norris and Isobel eased Leon down by the fire. Isobel took Leon's sword, tucking the front of her blue velvet skirt up into her belt.

 _Sorcerers,_ Ywain mouthed to Arthur as they waited in breathless silence. Arthur crept up to join Ector, Gawain and Terence close behind him.

Through the branches in front of the cave, they could see a four cloaked people rummaging through the snow, calling to each other and pointing out tracks. Ector's mouth worked angrily, and his fingers flexed on his sword. One of the figures gestured broadly towards their hiding place, and Arthur instinctively froze as all four hoods turned towards it.

"Get back," Ector hissed.

"Sir?" Thane whispered.

" _Hide_."

The group scrambled, grabbing bedrolls and bundles as Percival kicked out the fire. Darkness blinded Arthur for a moment before his eyes adjusted to the dim light from the cave's mouth. Merlin pressed against his side, fingers latching through Arthur's belt. The boy's eyes were wide, and Arthur could feel him trembling. They made their way behind an outcropping of rocks in the back of the cave, bumping awkwardly against each other as they groped for crannies and shoved their gear out of sight. Arthur glanced to where the horses were hobbled. Their feet were at least muffled, but nothing could disguise their scent, or the smell of the campfire smoke.

"Here it is!"

Arthur flinched, peering through a crack in the rocks to see the four sorcerers enter, silhouetted in the cave's mouth.

"You smell that?"

"They could be gone."

"Those tracks were fresh."

Light flashed through the cave from a white sphere conjured in one of the sorcerer's hand. Their abandoned campsite was starkly illuminated - fire pit still drifting smoke, a blanket left hanging over the rocks, the pile of wood, a spoon.

"Still warm?"

Of the the figures hovered a hand over the ashes. "Hot."

"They can't have been gone long."

"Or are still here?"

One of the horses blew, shaking down its mane, and Arthur tightened his grip on his sword.

"Back there!"

Ector glanced at him, and Arthur nodded. Helplessly discovered, they burst out of their hiding place with a shout. The sorcerers turned on them, yelling strange words, and Arthur's feet left the ground as he was blasted back. He landed hard, Isobel falling on top of him with a surprised cry. They both struggled to rise, tangled in her skirts and cloak.

Dust boiled around them, shouts, the crashing of bodies as the sorcerers shoved them away with hard bursts of power. A sorcerer rose over him, fingers spread, and Isobel screamed at the sight of his scarred and twisted face. Her scream mixed with another, and the sorcerer rocketed away from them, arching through the air and smashing against the ground with the crack of breaking bones. Arthur struggled up to see their attackers in four limp heaps before them and Merlin behind in the haze of dust, outstretched hands shaking. The sorcerer's pale magelight went out, plunging them all into darkness pierced only by Merlin's golden eyes.

"He's one of them!"

Isobel shoved Arthur behind her, and Merlin went down underneath another body, shadows in Arthur's sight. He lunged at them, and Isobel shoved him back hard.

"Stop it!"

Shadows merged in a frenzied struggle, and Arthur saw Merlin pulled free, scrambling to hang onto his rescuer's leg.

"Norris!" Leon's voice was horrified.

"You know _where_ he came from. _What_ he came from."

"He's a sorcerer, boy!"

"He just saved our lives!"

Arthur started forward again, and Isobel caught at him.

"Sire, it's not safe."

"I trust him." He wrenched free and crouched down by Norris, eyes probing the darkness to see if Merlin was hurt. The boy traded Norris' protection for his, huddling between Arthur's knees as their comrades slowly formed a hostile circle around them.

"Good God above - he's enchanted the prince."

"Sorry, Master," Merlin whispered. "I no want them hurt you."

"It's okay." Arthur clasped Merlin's shoulders and looked up at the dark figures of his comrades. "I'm not enchanted."

"That's what they all say," Kai replied.

"You do know this boy is a sorcerer." The dim light shone bright on Gaius's white hair as he shuffled forward.

"Yes."

"We can ask questions later. We can't risk-"

"Ector." Gaius's voice held a tone of command the old man rarely summoned, and the knight fell silent.

"If the boy wanted to harm Arthur, he just threw away a perfectly good opportunity to do so. I think it is safe to believe that the prince is not in immediate danger. Now," he turned briskly to Arthur. "I believe you told the Lady Isobel that you trusted this boy. Why?"

"Gaius." Ector laid his hand on the old man's arm. "His mind is not his own."

"If it is not, asking his reasoning will reveal it. Enchanted people do not think properly. Please, sire."

Arthur hesitated. These people needed a reply, one devoid of any presumed feeling of fondness for the frightened boy who served him. His thoughts gathered, scattered, and gathered again as he stacked them on top of one another, trying to sort some kind of sense into the ideas that had rattled around his mind for months now.

"I saw Morgause kill my father." He said into the breathless, uncomfortable silence. "I saw the spell she used to raise the dead. So if you think I don't understand that magic can be used for all kinds of evil… You're wrong."

"How long did you know?" Leon asked. "About the boy's powers?"

"Since we left Orkney." He turned and looked Leon in the eyes, heart pounding. "Have I seemed enchanted to you this whole time?"

"Sire," Gaius said patiently. "I need you to remember, carefully. Did he do anything to you to make you feel more kindly towards sorcerers?"

"He asked me a question." Arthur forced Merlin's hands free of his tunic and stood. The boy fell back as the prince shifted his feet, planting them as his rhetoric fell in line. "What is the difference between the power of sorcerers and the power of kings over their kingdoms or the power of masters over their slaves?" He let the inquiry hang for a moment. "I had no answer for him."

Arthur skimmed the group, meeting each person's eyes. None responded to his silent challenge to provide the answer themselves, and the soldiers shifted uncomfortably. Gawain and Terence kept themselves slightly apart, watching him with nervous hope.

"He is no sorcerer, but a warlock - and a slave who has faced unimaginable cruelty. Some of you saw the depraved use he expected from us, accepted from others."

Leon nodded, and Ywain looked away. Gawain tilted his head, encouraging.

"Yet would you call him cruel, or bitter? Good and bad aren't in birth, or power, or circumstance; it is the choices we make that corrupt us. Or don't. Those without magic are no less capable of the savagery we ascribe to sorcerers, though they do not accomplish it with the same tools. The evil does not rest in magic, only in the hearts of men."

The silence held when he stopped, magnifying the sound of their breathing. No one looked at Arthur, and his stomach stirred in fear. Had he not said enough? Said it wrong? It was nothing more or less what was in his heart and mind - if it wasn't good enough…

"The prince is right." Leon's voice was pained but steady. "If Merlin wanted to hurt Arthur, he just passed up a very good opportunity to do it, and be well rewarded for his trouble."

"You don't trust him, do you?" Ector asked.

"No. But I trust my prince."

* * *

The tension radiating off the people was palpable, and Merlin wrapped his arms tightly around his knees. They wanted to burn him, burn him for saving Master's life. He looked at the four people he had killed and made himself see them, and feel the sorrow of their lives leaving them.

That made twelve. All of them were worth Master's life, but he wished he could show other magic to these people - the good, beautiful kinds, or even some mundane ones. Sharp voices raised, and Sir Leon called over all of them.

"This is no time to be fighting among ourselves!"

"He'll kill us all!"

"Why you think that?" Merlin burst out, hurt by the assumption. They'd shown him kindness.

"You killed them." The man panted, his eyes wild, as he pointed at the sorcerers.

"They try hurt Master." Merlin got his feet under him and stood, trembling. "You want kill them too, before. Why my kill different to you?"

The man hesitated, and so did the others. His eyes dropped instinctively, skin crawling under all the stares. Merlin probed deep down inside himself, where his magic sat close, still poised and ready to be cast. He thought of the light Terence had drawn up, red like Master's cloak, then golden as the sunlight in spring, and willed his magic to do the same. It probed curiously towards the idea, then wrapped around it, spilling out of him. The man drew back - from the flash in his eyes, Merlin thought - and the knights and the fierce lady lifted their swords. A small blue light emerged between his hands, growing as big as his head before he stopped it. The inside pulsed and whirled with strands of blue light, but it cast a strong, steady glow all around them, lifting the darkness. Threads of gold spread and faded at the core with the beat of his heart.

The lady drew close first, and he held the glowing sphere out to her, ducking his head. "You can hold. It no hurt."

She touched it with the tip of one finger, then slid her whole hand over one side, casting a shadow on the wall. Merlin passed it into her hands and peeked up to watch her face. She stared at his light with undisguised awe.

"Do you feel anything unnatural, my lady?" Leon asked.

"No," the lady said.

She passed the sphere back to Merlin, carefully, as if it might break, and turned away swiftly, clutching her skirts. The slave found Master and stood close to him while the others drifted back towards the front of the cave, giving him a wide and nervous berth. So many people all afraid of him. It hurt, and felt unnatural.

Sir Ector was last. "You're a brave man, Arthur," he said. "Or a foolish one."

"I did what I believed was right."

"Is it?"

"To show mercy to my own slave?"

"How do you know he is yours?"

Merlin bristled at the affront to his loyalty. He was a good slave, not a hireling who traded loyalty like eggs at the market.

"I met the _person_ first, not the sorcerer." Master replied. "Perhaps you should try the same."


	14. Chapter 14

The party loaded their horses and moved out, pushing through the snow as quickly as the dismounted guards could move. Merlin's legs ached and burned, and he clung hard onto the side of Master's saddle to stay upright. His legs eventually found their up-down rhythm from the day before. He idly watched the snow fall in fat flakes that piled on their hoods and shoulders, trusting Master's guidance and his hold on the saddle to keep him from falling. Everyone feared pursuit, and looked over their shoulders when they weren't watching at him, curious glances that probed his back and turned away whenever he tried to see who was staring.

Black spots ranged in his vision, dancing against the snow and fading again when he blinked. Merlin shook his head and struggled on. When had they reached this part of the forest? He drifted, oddly light, and woke to a slap of cold across his face.

He was belly down in the snow, a horse almost on top of him, picking up its hooves and turning to nudge at him with its warm nose.

"Hold!" Sir Ector called.

The gray knight was there even before Master got himself out of the saddle, hands clasping around Merlin to lift him. He staggered, leaning blearily against the man while the black spots swam again. They would leave him behind if he couldn't walk. Merlin tried to press forward and fell on his hands and knees, flinching when two feet met the snow next to him as the prince dismounted.

 _Get up._

He pulled his feet underneath him and started to straighten his legs. They trembled violently and betrayed him to fall heavily in the snow again.

"Stop it."

Master's voice was kind, and so were his hands when he pulled Merlin up to his knees.

"Arms round my neck, hey?"

He hung on, his arms a little stronger than his exhausted legs, and Master stood for both of them. Merlin leaned into the warmth of the prince's chest, safe, content, his body pleading to be allowed to relax.

"Hey." Master shook him, jarring loose some of the warmth. "Stay with me. No sleeping."

Sleep. That would be wonderful. But no, Master forbid it. Merlin pushed his eyes open. "No sleep."

"That's right. Stay awake."

The wrinkled face of Gaius swam into Merlin's view, old, calloused hands touching his face, looking into his eyes.

"Hypothermia, sire. His body cannot produce the heat it needs."

"We treated them only last night," Sir Ector protested.

"Recovery from anything depends greatly on the previous condition of the patient." Gaius looked at Master. "Did anything happen to him when you left the castle?"

"He was reacting to Morgause's spellcasting."

"What were his symptoms?"

"Shaking, screaming, vomiting. His eyes went funny, like he was somewhere else, seeing other things." Master paused. "Terence was the same."

"Sir Ector, it is my advice that we camp posthaste."

"There was once an abandoned watchtower some half-hour's ride from here." Sir Ector looked at the prince.

"We use it for a hunting camp," Master nodded. "We'll have good shelter there."

Merlin yawned, trying to stay awake while they decided, and was very content when he found himself put astride the horse with Master behind him where he could snuggle back into his lord's cloak and feel the extra warmth radiating against his back. He tried hard to stay awake as Master said, despite the gentle rock of the horse and the snow that fell so lazily to kiss the tree branches and the horse's ears.

He saw the watchtower when the horse changed gait to climb the hill, the second story reaching for the sky in broken corners of stone, the lower walls braced and repaired with the rubble of the upper ones. Master dismounted and led his horse right through the door, and Merlin ducked over its neck so he wouldn't hit his head. The arrow slits gave them dim light, and he could see a stone floor, a covered well, and not much else.

The others rushed around them, so busy, all talking and jangling horse harness. Merlin tried to walk as Master brought him to the fire pit. His legs felt odd and wouldn't quite respond to his direction. A soft blanket met his back, and he was staring up at the ceiling now, Master's hands roaming for the laces of his clothes. If Merlin could not walk, he was pleased that he could still arch himself and shift and put his arms up so Master would not have difficulty stripping him.

Merlin lifted his limbs to accommodate Master as the young man rubbed him all over with a blanket, first out of submission, then because it felt good, like life bursting forth and running back down to his toes and fingers and back again. His mind woke as he found himself sitting up, leaning back against Master's chest and swathed in warm blankets. Someone put a warm bowl in his hands, and it felt heavy. He struggled with it, and Master caught the bowl just before it spilled. Merlin ignored the spoon and pulled Master's hands close so he could drink straight out of the bowl cupped in them. Broth, like last night, but with chunks of meat near the bottom that he had to stop and chew at.

There was not a fire.

Merlin looked from his still-steaming bowl of broth and warm blankets to the cold firepit and the definitely not on fire pyramid of wood at its center. Terence crouched over the wood, lifting his hand.

"Forbearnan," he whispered.

Flames crackled up, casting light across the inside of the tower and illuminating red-cheeked faces who watched Terence with caution. The manservant dropped cakes of dried meat and vegetables into the pot and heated it to steaming with a flash of his eyes.

"Dinner?" he asked, looking up at the others.

* * *

Their tired party ate while Master Gawain yelled at Terence to "warn me next time before you pull something like that for God's sake!"

His shouting made Merlin shiver until he saw Master Gawain touch Terence's shoulder gently despite his tirade and realized it was that strange, affectionate anger he did not quite understand.

The food and warmth settled in, and he got his clothes back, dry and snug. Merlin studiously put his trousers on his head, long legs of fabric trailing down over his shoulders and onto the ground, and grinned at Master from under the waistband. That got him a chuckle and a smile that did not fade. Master yanked a trouser leg down all the way over Merlin's head, blinding him, and playfully knuckled his hair while he squirmed, the tension of the last few days turning to giggles.

When Master released him - a little light back in the prince's eyes that had gone dull since Morgause attacked - Merlin put on his clothes properly and lay back, stretching from toes to fingertips until his spine popped.

Everyone had their food, the camp was settled and the horses hobbled and crunching their nosebags on the other side of the tower. He should draw water for washing the dishes.

"You rest," Master said, pushing him back down.

Merlin obeyed uncomfortably, his body itching for something to do. Instead, he lay on the floor like the wounded knights, waiting for his turn to be checked by the physician. No one seemed to resent his laziness. He sat up anyway, as soon as Master was paying attention to something else, dragging one of the blankets with him and draping it around himself as he settled on his knees, properly in attendance without disobeying the command to rest. He hoped. Master only sighed to see him, and shook his head without saying anything.

The door banged open and Merlin startled, shuddering in the cold blast of wind and wondering why no once seemed to notice, even as the fire guttered and went out.

Thick blue fog wiped their small camp away. The others vanished, all of them, save Terence, who sprang to his feet. In the same breath a woman appeared in the middle of the room, pale and wrinkled with age, her eyes bitter with unmeasured sorrow. The mist crawled around her, the edges of her thick dress and sleeves worn to tatters that fluttered in a breeze Merlin could not feel. Her hair was gray under her black hood, and she and carried a twisting staff.

"Your Grace." She bowed to Terence. The woman's voice seemed dragged from the bottom of the grave. Her eyes turned on Merlin, and he clutched his blanket around him protectively. "You? A slave-child?"

Merlin cringed back as she approached and stroked the side of his face with her knuckles, icy fingers trailing down to his collar and across it, back under his chin to draw him to his feet.

"You've no idea what you are."

He stepped back, hugging himself and glancing around for Master, the fire, their safe little tower.

"I am the Cailleach, the gatekeeper to the spirit world." The woman turned back to Terence. "Morgause has offered a blood sacrifice, Your Grace. Four kings, two princesses, ten knights, and five hundred thirty-two of her own hired men."

"What does she want?" Terence whispered.

"She wishes to open the veil between the worlds and command the spirits of the restless dead. At midnight tonight, the veil will open, and she will be permitted to call any to her who choose to go."

"Can you stop her?"

"I am a neutral party, Your Grace. I will not interfere with the dispute."

"Neither should the dead."

"She has presented the sacrifice."

"But not made it."

"No."

"The laws of sacrifice are not absolute." Terence stepped forward. "They must be accepted by the receiving party. Deny her."

The Cailleach smirked. "Duke of Avalon or not, you cannot command me."

"Seelie will stand against you in this."

The woman's laughter was bitter and cold as a winter's night with no fire or shelter. "What do I care for the factions of Men or the Fae? They all send me their souls. Even you, brave Duke of Isle Avalon, humble servant of an exiled prince of Men, will come screaming to me in the end."

Terence said nothing, and it was the Cailleach who turned her eyes away from his first.

"Innocent people will die, my lady."

"The innocent are always dying alongside the guilty." She ran her fingers over her staff. "The world does not measure life and death by who is innocent and who is not, or by who wishes to go. Many times did this slave-child call out to me to come and steal his life out of his body and end his torment. Tell me, boy, do you wish I had taken it?"

Merlin shook his head, chilled by her keen, sad gaze.

"The judgment of the living and the dead is not within us, Your Grace, nor the purposes of their suffering."

"That is no reason to kill more. Will you not stop it?" Terence pressed.

The Cailleach turned away. "She cannot force the dead to come to her. I cannot stop them from going. What happens after is their doing, not mine. Let the wicked bear their own sins, son of Ganscotter, and do not join them."

She was gone in a moment, and the light of the fire washed over them as the mist cleared and they saw their companions again.

"Terence, what is it?" Master Gawain demanded. "Who were you speaking to?"

"The Cailleach." Terence wavered as he huddled down by the fire, arms wrapped around his knees.

"The which?"

"She is the gatekeeper to the spirit world."

"Why was she here?" Kai asked bluntly. "Just a nice chat?"

"Morgause is making another blood sacrifice."

Kai fell silent.

"Another four?" Master Gawain ran a hand over his face.

"Over five hundred."

A spoon clattered to the ground as one of the soldiers dropped in it shock. "Why?" he gasped.

"To call forth the spirits of the dead. The Cailleach claims she cannot stop her."

"Will you see them like you did the last four?" Master Gawain asked, gripping Terence's shoulder.

Terence did not look at him. "Probably."

"Like the last four?" Ector asked.

Master Gawain did not take his eyes from his servant. "Both Terence and Merlin found themselves in the minds of the victims during their final moments when Morgause made last blood sacrifice. It was…disturbing to them."

"To put it mildly." Terence's lips twisted into an excuse for a smile.

Merlin turned from staring at the place where the Cailleach had stood. "We see these too?" he whispered, blood running cold at the thought.

"Most likely." Terence's eyes were haunted.

Once, a master had tied him to the bedpost, and said he would whip him five hundred times. That was the closet Merlin knew to how many five hundred might be, and he had fainted from the pain before all five hundred were done. This was more than five hundred. Four was unbearable. Five hundred…

Master caught him before he even knew he started to fall, and his knees sagged. He knew how to sidestep the brunt of anger, of pain, how to satisfy an owner's need for power with abject pleading instead of his own misery, but there was no avoiding this, the decision made and having nothing to do with him or anything he had done. Master looked just as helpless as he.

"When?" Master Gawain asked.

Terence wrapped his arms closer around his knees. "Today is Midwinter's Eve, and the sacrifice must be made under cover of darkness. She'll start at midnight tonight."

* * *

Gaius knew the times by the stars and gave both Merlin an Terence herbs as midnight drew close. He knew nothing for pain of the mind, the physician explained, but a little delirium would at least help to ease the shock and fade the memory.

Merlin recognized the echo of Morgause's power this time as it gathered itself, knew the moment she lit her casting fire. It flared up, and he saw the unfamiliar courtyard in a flash. Three levels of cold, weather-worn arches glared down on them on four sides, larger than life, fading into the star-pricked sky. The open cobblestones were covered with people, the casting fire in its brazier and an altar at the center, Morgause standing beside them. Two rough guards grabbed him, and he screamed like a young woman, blond hair in his face, a noblewoman's tattered sleeves of green silk hanging from his arms as he - she? - struggled fruitlessly against to two men. Cold stone on his back, and the knife was like a whip cut to the chest before his eyes went dark.

They opened again to chaos. Screaming. Skirt and limbs draped across the altar at the edge of his vision until Morgause shoved them to the ground. He was fighting with the others to get away, hearing cries of rage, begging hysterically as he was yanked back onto the stone altar by the witch's powers. Another merciless cut bit into his chest.

"Merlin!"

Merlin fought to get his eyes open again, coming into quiet, low light, Percival murmuring gently in a language Merlin did not know with wooden beads wrapped through his fingers, Master's face above him.

"You aren't them, okay?"

Terence whimpered, and Merlin flashed back to the courtyard in time to see Morgause's face over him, the dagger dripping blood before it pierced his heart a third time. He was a king, then, full of rage, betrayed by his ally, and how dare she this was not what they had agreed to-

He died as easily as the others.

"Get his head up, Sire."

A cup was pressed to Merlin's lips, and he gulped down more herbs. His vision blurred, and the times he died became less precise, marked only by the sharp cut of the knife. He was half himself, half someone else, sobbing in fear, shouting in rage as he was dragged to the witch's thirsty knife.

His chest hurt horribly. He clawed at wounds that were not there until Master pinned his wrists.

" _Please!_ "

"You're going to hurt yourself."

He was already hurting, dying, over and over again, until his chest felt like one gaping hole where his heart and lungs strained. Morgause's eyes were full of bloody satisfaction, and Master's hands laid on his shoulders. He barely understood where he was, and knew exactly where he wanted to be. Merlin tried to stay there, beside the warm and crackling fire, but the knife burrowed into his body, deeper and harder with each cut.

"Please," he whispered, automatic words that would do no good. "Please, Master. No punish. I be very good."

"I'm not angry." Master's voice was full of pain. "It's the witch, remember?"

"Make stop."

"I can't."

 _I can't, I can't, I can't,_ "I can't give him more herbs, Sire. It is too dangerous in his weakened condition."

He died again.

* * *

The courtyard had more dead bodies than live ones now. Morgause stood in a pool of blood, and the cobblestones ran red. This one cried and prayed as he was thrown on his back.

"Hush."

A different face replaced Morgause's, looking down at him, framed with tendrils of auburn hair, rather than blond. The lady, Isobel, they called her, cradled his head in her lap, rubbing gentle fingers across his scalp. Merlin twisted his head to brush his lips against her hand, crying out as the knife struck again. Master held his hands down when he tried to reach for the gash, and he glanced down at his chest. No knife wounds, only a rumpled tunic that half-covered bloody scratches. He could do nothing for his pain except injure himself more. Merlin kicked against the ground and sobbed wretchedly as the vision of death dragged him down again.

 _No more. Please, no more._ There was too much blood already, too many lying dead. Morgause's arms and the front of her dress were splashed in red gore, even to her face where she had swiped back her hair. She was cold, and heartless, and-

This one was not afraid. He was _she_ again, standing straight, hands folded inside wide sleeves, skirt and hair tugging in the wind - a princess, who would die a princess and no less. She looked Morgause in the eye and shook off her guards, walking through the blood to the altar without being pressed.

"May God in heaven witness this, Morgause, and not hold you guiltless."

"You are a silly girl," hissed the witch. She did not believe it, and the princess knew, and smiled in Morgause's face.

Merlin did not want her to die. The princess did not desire death either, but she did not fear it. When it came, she did not fight.

Silence hung in the courtyard. Morgause flung her bloody dagger into the casting fire, and it leapt up eagerly, clawing at the sky. A gash tore through the air along it, and the brazier clattered to the ground, scattered embers burning out. The dead screamed, and Merlin screamed with them.

* * *

He woke exhausted, an echo of pain still burning in his chest. His head rested in Lady Isobel's lap, and Master leaned over him, propped up on one elbow.

"You with us?" he whispered.

Merlin nodded, slowing taking in his surroundings. Terence lay huddled in a blanket, Garth and Garis snuggled up against him and offering what comfort they knew. Master Gawain sat close against his servant, head buried against his drawn-up knees. No one was sleeping, though the bedrolls were laid out. Most of the soldiers were with the horses, who shifted nervously on the other side of the tower. Gaius poured over a small stack of books, glasses perched on the end of his nose and a small hourglass measuring time beside him.

The sand ran out as Merlin watched, and the old man unfolded himself from beside the fire, picking up two cups. He approached Terence first, Gawain propping the young man up and rubbing his throat to help him swallow.

"Will it help?" Master asked as the physician came to them.

Gaius pressed the cup to Merlin's lips, and he gulped at it, grimacing.

"With luck, it will dull their memory of the event," the physician replied.

Ector picked up the books, looking at the pages Gaius had left open. "Did you find anything?"

"I believe Morgause has summoned the Dorocha - the spirits of the evil and restless dead. They may haunt the night only, but there is no defense against them, save their fear of fire."

"Why would she do this?"

"I expect it is the desire to strike fear into the hearts of any who dare to oppose her. Her army is now more or less invincible."

Merlin turned his face away, sick of this witch and not wanting to hear any more about her. The watch changed, the soldier's feet stumbling as they sought their bedrolls. Lady Isobel cupped his head in her hands while she shifted herself and lay it back into his blankets. He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles gratefully, receiving a kind smile in return before she turned away, the hem of her skirt just brushing him.

"She's left us an advantage."

All conversations stopped as the group turned to Master, who sat cross-legged at Merlin's side, arms resting on his knees.

"She's bound everything up in her spells, relied on them to the exclusion of everything else. She's destroyed her alliances." Master clenched his fist with grim satisfaction. "If her enchantments are broken, so is she."

"How, sire?"

"Well, we do have two sorcerers."

Nervous laughter echoed off the stones.

"If they're with us?"

Terence opened one eye and made a face that was half-hidden by his snugly wrapped blankets. "If I wake up tomorrow. What 'bout you, Merls?"

Merlin smiled at his liege. "With Master always."

"And the rest of you?" Master skimmed the group.

Not a one hesitated to join in the sturdy, "Aye."

* * *

 **A/N: So sorry for the wait. I would much rather have beat this chapter with a stick than post it, for all the trouble it gave me. But here it is, the end of Part One, I think. I'm writing this by feel, and despite my ultimate knowledge of where I want my characters to end up, I don't know a lot about how they're going to get there, or even how long it will take.**

 _ **Manni: Yay for noble Arthur! Our boys are going through the wringer, but seem to be coming out with some wisdom about them. :)**_

 _ **Guest: Merlin's getting a bit of nerve back, and just in time, too. You are very welcome.**_

 _ **Anon37idk: So glad you are having a fun read. :)**_

 _ **Kate: Frankly, I didn't think it would make much sense for Morgause to kill most of the peasant/merchant class, since she kind of needs them to support the kingdom's economy. Merlin has more spunk than he knows, and Arthur is getting some space to call his own shots - thankfully with some honorable folks who are willing to back him up. Glad you liked the ending.**_

 _ **Waffle: Is six days soon? I say this a lot, but it just makes me really happy to help other people be happy by writing stories for them to read. So so happy you're having fun.**_


	15. Chapter 15

The castle was a welcome sight. Sir Ector's fortress sprawled across the brow of a hill, broad towers riven out of sheer cliffs on one side that fell into a tree-lined river. The glistening strand twisted lazily away into the farmlands beyond. One broad and crumbling wall encircled everything all the way to the river, clearly older than the rest of the building and long since in disrepair, and the inner complex only looked inhabited on one side.

Sir Ector turned in his saddle. "Welcome to Cladborough Castle, my lord."

Arthur nodded, and eased himself in his saddle. The heavy weight of exhaustion still hung around him, and he could think of nothing but a meal and somewhere warm to sleep. Merlin leaned flush against his back, dozing, and Arthur kept one hand on where the boy's arms were loosely wrapped around his waist, in case he slipped. The horses picked up their pace, sensing their home stables, and the gates were unbarred and swung open before them at the shouts of the guards.

Grooms, servants, and the castle steward hastened to greet them, taking the horses and baggage. Sir Ector was calling instructions before he even dismounted.

"Hal!" he said to the steward, "send a mounted messenger to the people, as far as Newcairn, and give him silver to stay at the Owl and Eagle. In the name of Prince Arthur, everyone must be indoors, windows barred, by sundown from now on. Camelot has fallen to the witch, and we must defend against her enchantments. Furthermore," Ector looked deeply at Arthur, hesitating, then forging on, "anyone suspected of using magic shall - shall not be mistreated. They are to be brought before the prince here at Cladborough."

"My lord?" Hal the steward stared at his liege.

Arthur dismounted and passed his horse to a groom, Merlin muttering sleepily as he yawned behind him. "A small group of sorcerers allied with us against Morgause's evil," Arthur informed the startled man, lifting his voice to carry somewhat through the courtyard. "We have been forced to reconsider our position on magic, and those who use it, for not all mean us harm. But tell the people not to fear - any sorcerer bent on evil will still face justice."

Hal nodded shakily and instructed a page to arrange the message before he continued making arrangements for the influx of guests.

An hour later, Arthur lounged in a bath in one of the guest rooms. A fire crackled in the grate, and if the room was sparsely furnished and not his own, it was still warm and welcoming, with rich red bed-curtains, furs on the bed and over the chairs, and tapestries on the walls. Merlin handed him a warm towel as he crawled out of the water, yawning loudly. Arthur rubbed himself dry and pulled on his nightshirt.

"Get yourself a wash too," he told the boy, who stood staring at the water, almost cross-eyed with exhaustion.

Merlin startled, then poked the water with his finger, eyes flashing gold. He jumped back when it boiled and stumbled off to find the pitcher of cold water. Clumsy with tiredness, Merlin fell over three times while trying to get his clothes off and accidentally dunked himself slipping gracelessly into the water.

"Leave the water when you're done," Arthur said, putting a dry towel by the fire to warm. "The servants put a couch in the antechamber for you, but you can sleep in the bed if you want."

The boy hummed his acknowledgment, snuggled against the side of the tub with his eyes closed in bliss.

"Don't drown in there."

Merlin's eyes cracked open, and he nodded, smiling. Arthur blew out the candles and crawled under the blankets and furs, burrowing deep into the soft mattress and letting out a sigh. They needed to find a way to defend themselves against the Dorocha, and against the skeleton army, and then some way to defeat Morgause herself. And to do that, he would have to reverse a kingdom's view on magic and turn a beaten-down slave boy into a powerful magical ally - equal to Morgause, or better than the witch. If magic were like learning to use a sword or bow, training like that could take years. How long, how many dead in between, and what if his aunt found them, or discovered that they were raising magic against her-

Arthur reeled his mind back in. Tonight, he must rest. Merlin must get his strength back. They must learn how to survive the Dorocha, and they would need the books on magic his father had spent so many years trying to eradicate. He sent up a prayer, admitting his unease, the words falling easily from his lips, which was unusual - it normally felt as awkward as talking to his bed canopy.

A nudge against his feet startled him mid-thought, and he sighed, glancing at where Merlin curled facedown on the foot of the bed. He'd hoped the past few days would jolt Merlin out of his ritual of morning and evening prostration, but the slave appeared to be back in full swing. He didn't dare reject the gesture yet - refusing the subservience left Merlin crushed and frightened - so Arthur waited through it instead, until the boy let go of his ankles and crawled up the bed beside him.

"Who Master talk to?"

"Uh, God." Arthur flushed when he realized he had spoken his prayer out loud.

"Who that? Him High Power?" Merlin pointed up.

"Yeah."

"Can slave talk him?"

"I think." The two priests his father kept spent most of their instruction time yelling about how sorcerers and gamblers and tavern-goers would all burn in Hell forever, and didn't bother with much else, like how to pray, or who could or couldn't.

"How I do it? Kneel, like to Master?"

Arthur shrugged. "I guess?"

"Have say anything?"

"Um, no? Just…be polite?"

Merlin pulled himself around to kneel on the bed, and Arthur turned away, face hot. If he usually felt awkward praying, he felt doubly awkward watching anyone else do it.

"Please forgive slave if I not-proper, God," Merlin said tentatively behind him. "But bad spirit come; dead bone, they fight us; bad lady, she kill many many people until so much blood run on the ground. I beg you help my master. Make him body strong for fight and him head noble, so he know what do. Keep bad spirit away him."

Merlin paused, and Arthur lay rigidly still with embarrassment.

"If it please you, please, God, beg you just hit bad lady with sky-fire so she die. She need punish."

* * *

 _Merlin writhed on his back, tangled - tied? - helpless, shoulder blades griding against rough and dirty stone. Images collided, combined, sickly green, black, the dull blue-brown of darkened, rotting corners. Morgause rose over him, screaming in rage that turned to a deep roar as her jaw opened impossibly wide, twisting, contorting her face until she lunged down at him, reaching for his neck with fingers made of daggers -_

 _"You threw away your leash."_

 _Not-Master's hand worked on his throat, no quite choking, still hurting, and Merlin whimpered in reply._

 _He wouldn't do such a stupid thing._

 _He had. He could see it, the little break in the snow where the leather strand fell. Not-Master's palm slid over Merlin's stomach, making his bare flesh prickle._

 _"Do it again, and I'll lead you by your insides."_

 _Merlin cringed away, eyes fixed on the knife already poised in Morgause's hand as not-Master crawled over him, tightening the cold straps until they drew blood and stuffing a scrap of cloth in Merlin's mouth. Not-Master and Morgause did not seem in each other's way as the man pushed down. Merlin's whole body convulsed in protest at the invasion of its space, and he screamed through the gag, teeth clenching on the cloth._

"Merlin!"

 _That was Master's voice. He clung to it as pain blossomed through him - Morgause's dagger-thrusts or not-Master, who loomed on him and over him and inside, filling him with pain and fear and filthiness-_

"Hey. You're okay."

 _Merlin turned his face towards the voice and saw nothing. The ghost of a hand tenderly brushed his hair, and he tried to lean into the touch as it vanished, gone. Gone forever and he was trapped and vulnerable and no._

 _No._

 _He could choose._

 _If he wanted to go to Master's voice, he would go._

 _Morgause's dagger skidded off an invisible barrier above his chest. Merlin turned his head and met her blazing eyes and pushed. The witch flew back with a scream, landing with a rattle and a crash somewhere out of his sight. He spat out the gag, heaving in clean air, yanking himself free of the straps that bound him down. Not-master's arm slammed down over his throat. Merlin raked his fingernails down the man's face, leaving bloody furrows, digging into the flesh until they caught, and wrenched the man's head to the side, forcing him to roll._

 _The space gave him clarity, even as not-Master lunged again, and Merlin reached deep down, dragging his magic out of him until his body quivered with it, thrusting an open palm into not-Master's bloody face._

 _"You stay away from me."_

 _Not-Master stared in shock, then growing fury._

"Merlin?" _Master's voice, disembodied in his dark and twisted world, was gentle._ "Who do you see?"

 _"I see old master," Merlin whispered back._

 _The touch on his shoulder was more real this time_. "He doesn't own you anymore, remember?"

 _"How dare you," not-Master hissed. "You little piece of filth-"_

 _"No." Merlin shook his head._

 _Not-master opened his mouth, but no insults came out, just a stream of dirt that looked like it might have been scraped off of dungeon stones. It started as a thin trickle, and then not-Master grew ridged, eyes widening. Dirt gushed from his gaping mouth as he choked and gagged and started to shrink, clawing at the floor, at his own skin, scrabbling on the ground. Merlin lowered his hand, heart pounding as not-Master's body dissolved into a heap of blood-soaked mud._

 _His own face felt soaked, and Merlin lifted his fingers to find tears pouring out of his eyes. Something inside him roiled, seeking release, forcing sobs out of his throat._

"Easy."

Merlin's vision cleared, blurred, and cleared again. He was not hurt, much, though his body was sore from sheer tiredness. No stone, only bed, soft, warm, with blankets that snuggled up close to his body. Master's arm circled all the way around his back to lay him down. Merlin yielded to the movement, eyes fixed on Master's drawn face, tight with worry.

"Mercy." Merlin pressed his palm over Master's heart, feeling the steady pulse, a little quick, but slowing now. He knew the answer to his plea already, shut his eyes in anticipation, eager to hear it.

"Hush. You don't have to beg for that."

He paced his breathing to the rise and fall of Master's chest under his fingertips, letting it slow and deepen.

"You with me?"

Merlin nodded, peeling his eyes open.

Master's gaze searched his earnestly. "They're gone."

"I know."

Something outside screamed, rattling at the shuttered windows, and Merlin startled.

"Just the Dorocha," Master murmured.

Just a Dorocha. Merlin giggled, sobbing in between - _just a Dorocha_ shouldn't be words of comfort. The tears took over entirely, running down his temples and soaking into the pillow.

"Chose you," he whispered, half to Master, half to himself. "Bad lady call, not-Master call, you call. I go your voice - because I want go."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah."

Warm arms tucked around him, giving peace and safety without grudge and asking for nothing in return. Merlin turned his face into Master's shoulder and wept until his body shook with the tears and he choked on his own breath. His lord was confused, his hands and arms going limp.

"Did I hurt you?"

"No, no no." Merlin shook his head and pushed his knee against Master's leg. "No hurt. Tired." A sense of relief washed over him as he identified the feeling. He was exhausted, sick of being hurt, sick of seeing others hurt, and a niggling voice inside him suggested that he had the strength to stop it all.

"Bad lady hurt so many," he whispered, drawing small circles on the shoulder of Master's sleep shirt with his finger. "Tired of watch her. Want stop."

Master inhaled to the brink of his lungs. "You can do that," he replied, eyes barely visible in the dark. "I've seen you both - and you're stronger."

Cold seeped into Merlin's heart. "You think I be evil sometime?"

"No!" Master poked him. "You remember what you told me? Evil is a choice that you make? I just think you're capable of defeating her."

"Master want me learn magic do it?"

Master nudged close. "I thought I told you I wasn't going to drag you by the neck. You can follow me or not, whatever you want. And you can be my servant or my sorcerer or both or neither. That choice-" Master's eyes crinkled at the edges- " _that_ choice belong you."

Sir Ector's staff furnished him and Master with food and fresh clothes the next morning. Merlin sorted through them while Master still slept, keeping the food close to the fire to stay warm. His lord would prefer this blue woolen tunic, and he would best compliment his master if he wore red.

The prince stirred beneath his blankets, stretching, yawning, and emerging, all messy clothes and hair and bleary eyes. If action was needed, Master could awake in seconds. On quiet mornings like these, he staggered like a drunk man, swathed in sleep like a heavy cloak until after breakfast.

Merlin approached to prostrate himself and found his knees wouldn't bend. The habit of throwing himself at his master's feet was awkward and heavy this morning. Not that he didn't want to, but he didn't _have_ to. If he went to the floor, it would not be because he was thrown there, or because he cowered there to avoid a beating, but because he _chose_ it. Merlin pushed himself down as Master rubbed his eyes, and relaxed, easing the tension away. Kneeling here, now, with no fear or desperation crushing him into the stone, was sweeter than he could ever remember. He clasped Master's free hand and pressed it to his forehead, receiving a touch on the top of his head in return, and it felt like loyalty offered and accepted, rather than mere subjugation.

"Good morning," Master said as he looked up.

"Morning." And a beautiful one, too. Sunlight kissed the back of his neck with warmth, reaching through his clothes to the sore muscles beneath. "Master hungry?"

The prince nodded, and Merlin jumped up to lay the table. Master did not want to be served after Merlin finished filling his cup, and pressed him to eat instead. The boy sat down cross-legged on the floor with bread and cheese and ham that was nearly hot enough to singe his fingers.

"I've had an idea," Master declared, covering his mouth with a fist and yawning again, fit to split is head in two.

"What idea?" Master looked excited and a little nervous, and Merlin shifted, folding both arms on Master's leg.

"How would you like to learn to read?"

* * *

He might as well have offered Merlin the kingdom on a silver plate. Arthur was inclined to see study as a necessary evil, but Merlin quickly showed he had a clever mind starved for learning. Gaius was a willing teacher, reading to the slave boy while he toiled at his chores, and sometimes stopping them altogether to make Merlin trade soap and brush for slate and chalk. When the boy unceremoniously interrupted Arthur and Ector's contemplation of a map to show off a slate full of the names of everyone Merlin knew written in crooked letters with every L and S backwards, lit up by a joyful smile, the prince knew he had made the right decision.

Morgause seemed to rest in the security of her reign. A patrol of her skeleton warriors stalked Newcairn for a few days, intimidating the inhabitants and harming no one. Sir Ector sent orders to his people not to resist the creatures in an effort to avoid attention, and no live warriors followed the sinister visits. The Dorocha remained the primary threat, capable of ripping the life out of whole villages and caravans in a single night and turning Cladborough into a refuge for frightened travelers who no longer dared the road. How they were supposed to oppose monsters that killed with a touch and feared neither sword nor sorcery was beyond Arthur.

To keep them from stewing in their own fears, Sir Ector pressed Arthur into study with Kay, Gawain, and his brothers, insisting that noblemen, in exile or not, should still receive a proper education. Merlin moved from Gaius's private tutelage to a small group with Gaharis and Gareth, until it became clear he was effortlessly surpassing his fellow pupils. A rim of gold appeared on the boy's eyes when he took in information, as if his magic was determined to make up for the long ignorance by devouring as much learning as it could. Neither Greek nor Latin nor the Old Tongue - which was necessary for magic - could faze him, and a mere month after they fled Camelot, he was curled at Arthur's feet in the library, consuming what mathematics and philosophy Ector's priest Father Josep and Gaius knew. Any reservations Father Josep had about teaching a slave and a warlock were destroyed by Merlin's eagerness, and Merlin followed the priest like a curious puppy in his slivers of spare time, bombarding him with questions. _Where God? How pray? Why dead man hang in chapel?_

After that, Arthur got a stern lecture on neglecting the soul and salvation of his pagan slave, which quickly turned to indignation on Father Josep's part when Arthur inadvertently revealed his own vast ignorance. Catechism would be added to their studies in favor of sparring outside, and Arthur was miserable. The winter days were short enough without being forced to spend the greater part of them buried in books and papers.

Father Josep gave him a disapproving look. "Strength is no good without wisdom to guide it, your highness."

The prince had no good answer to that, and educating Merlin revealed its first downside - he could hardly slack off with such a dedicated student to compete with. Gawain shared his frustration. Raised by a learned hermit, Terence could speak Latin flawlessly and was already acquainted with much of the material Gaius covered, meaning that Gawain often had no choice but to accept his servant's tutelage. He did so graciously, but Arthur saw the drive to prove himself the other young man's intellectual equal for the sake of appearances and bragging rights and making sure Terence couldn't insult him behind his back in foreign languages. The two princes took to sparring with each other in the empty banquet hall during the evenings to work off their accumulated irritation and yell about Pliny the Elder where Father Josep couldn't smack them across the head for their lack of sense.

It was in the banquet hall that Gaius found them late one evening, Merlin curled in Arthur's cloak under a table, sleeping undisturbed by the clatter of the princes' swords.

"No more lessons, please, Gaius," Arthur moaned, rubbing welcome sweat off his forehead with a sleeve.

The old man chuckled. "Not tonight. But I think Merlin is ready to begin studying magic, and I want you to learn alongside him."

"I'm no sorcerer."

"No, but you need to know how magic works if you are to judge those who use it with wisdom."

Arthur nodded. "I just don't know if my head can hold any more."

"I will speak with Father Josep. We wish to challenge you, not overwhelm you."

Gaius turned to go, and Arthur caught his arm. "One question. How much is Merlin's magic helping him learn?"

"A great deal, sire. Has it caused him harm?"

"No, but he does complain of headaches and tiredness."

"I shall provide him with a remedy for the pain, but as your slave, sire, it is your responsibility to tend to his contentment and well-being."

Arthur managed to carry Merlin back all the way to his chambers without waking the boy, ignoring the sniggers that followed him. The boy snuggled deep into the furs and blankets on his sleeping couch when Arthur laid him down, and the prince took the moment to examine him. The circles under his eyes were a little darker, his body was still too slight, and a contented smile rested on his face. The Dorocha howled and rattled at his window shutters, making Merlin stir. Was he selfish, Arthur wondered, to push someone so vulnerable to the front of a conflict for his own kingdom? Or would it be more selfish to keep the boy ignorant and prevent him from using his powers? If Merlin wanted to follow him, Arthur would not stop him, but was the boy even capable of making such a decision? Arthur dropped onto his own bed with a groan. This is what he got for studying philosophy.

More screaming. He pulled a pillow over his head and tried to shut it out. Stupid Dorocha. When they weren't terrifying, the racket they raised was purely annoying. It grew to a blood-curdling pitch, punctuated with howls, sharp cries, shouts that seemed to come from - inside the castle? Arthur poked his head out just as his chamber door burst open. Merlin jumped, but did not wake as a man-at-arms staggered into the room, panting.

"Sire - it's the Lady Isobel. She's a sorceress."

* * *

 _ **Many thanks to the readers and reviewers for your time. I hope I've entertained you. :) As much as I would love to promise more regular updates, I can't, as Real Life is very demanding, but I do intend wholeheartedly to keep writing this story until it is finished, for better or worse. Happy Easter - or Spring - or both!**_


	16. Chapter 16

**_Footnotes are provided for the languages we encounter in this chapter. Replies to guest reviews and other notes are below that._**

* * *

Arthur rushed through the hallway to the audience chamber, Merlin stumbling behind him. The sounds from inside the castle drowned out the shrieks of the Dorocha, and the prince found the vast room already packed with people, all craning their necks to get a sight of Lady Isobel, ghostly pale in her trailing nightgown, her hair half-torn from its long braid. Two guards held her in front of the empty chair at the head of the hall where Sir Ector waited.

The people cleared a pathway through the hall for Arthur, and he took his seat in the chair, trying to catch a glimpse of Isobel's face. Her head was tucked down and her hands clenched. The sound in the hall faded to feverish whispering.

"What happened?" Arthur asked.

The young woman shook, not looking him in the eye. "I don't know. I woke up and I was afraid and everything in the room-" she cut off with a sob.

"Everything in the room?"

"I didn't mean to, Sire, I swear it!" Isobel clenched her hands in her hair. "I've hidden nothing from you! I didn't mean anything, and I don't know what is happening-"

Someone in the crowd shrieked, and Arthur turned to see the banners on the edges of the room stir in an phantom wind. The tables shoved against the wall lifted, wavering in the air a few inches from the ground.

"Calm yourself, my lady," Arthur said gently. "You've done nothing wrong."

The tables shuddered to the floor as Isobel collapsed between her guards, face buried in her hands as she swayed back and forth.

Arthur leaned forward. "Was everything in the room floating, like the tables just now?"

Isobel nodded without taking her face from her hands.

Breathless silence followed her admission, broken only by the cries of the Dorocha scrabbling at the windows. Arthur wished he were more awake. His first trial. The first magic user his people would see him judge who was not under the apparent control of a master.

"You do understand that this kind of uncontrolled magic can become dangerous, even if you mean no one harm."

"Yes, my lord," the lady whispered.

"It is no crime to have magic. But for the safety of yourself and those around you, I must insist you learn to keep control of it before you accidentally break something or frighten yourself again."

Arthur stood from his chair and reached out his hands to help the lady to her feet. "So long as you use your powers for good, you shall have nothing to fear from the law." He kept hold of her cold and shaking fingers and lifted his voice. "But anyone found mistreating this lady because of her magic will face the full force of the law, since she remains under its protection."

His proclamation was greeted with rustling amazement. Arthur ignored the shifting people to turn back to Isobel and lower his voice.

"And I hope, my lady, that you do not fear yourself. What you possess is a gift."

Isobel smiled tremulously, her gaze falling to where Merlin knelt beside Arthur's chair. The boy rose and came to Arthur's side, taking Isobel's hand and bending over it when she held it out.

"I am sorry if I was unkind to you," she said softly. "I did not understand."

Merlin beamed at her. "No need to apologize, lady."

"How - how do I control it?"

"Deep breath," Merlin replied. "Feel your magic inside you, pet it like…like a small cat. Tell it to be at peace."

"Just that?"

"Most times. But magic doesn't want to sit still."

"Gaius will be instructing Merlin and myself in sorcery," Arthur told her. "You should join us. I'm certain he could answer your questions."

"That - would be a relief." Isobel shut her eyes and breathed. The hall was quieter now, and Arthur looked up to see the room emptying, guards encouraging people back to bed. Isobel followed his gaze and shook her head in amazement.

"Your father would not have done this."

"I am not my father."

"No." The lady met his eyes fully. "You are not. My king."

* * *

Gaius settled them in the library the next morning, Merlin wriggling with excitement and stroking the covers of all the books on the way in, Isobel with her hands clenched in her dress and a tight smile on her lips. Arthur attempted to make a show of being relaxed for her sake, but he had no idea what Gaius would say or do next - he had not even known until recently that the old physician knew enough of magic to both practice and teach it.

Gaius folded his hands and scanned their faces. " _Drýcræft_ , what we call _magic_ , is the manipulation of the world through either the imposition of the magician's will upon the subjects through spells and enchantments or the combination and use of inherently magical substances.

"Depending on which theorist you prefer, there are either six or eight forms of Drýcræft. Anyone may access and use them, although the extent of their power and success depends on their interest, their dedication, and the strength of their Affinity.

"Each person has within them a core of power that must be tapped every time they use magic. This core regenerates constantly, but the more powerful the spell, the more quickly the core is drained. A sorcerer's Affinity is rate of use over their rate of regeneration within the strength of their core. If the core is completely drained before a spell is completed, the core itself will be sacrificed to finish the spell, and the sorcerer will no longer be able to regenerate or use magic ever again. A sorcerer with a strong Affinity - a potent core and a quick regeneration - will be able to cast more powerful spells in quicker succession before they are forced to rest. One with a weak Affinity will reach their limits quickly, and risks burning out should they push themselves too far."

Arthur held up a hand for the old man to pause. "You are saying that any one of us could learn and use magic."

"To be completely honest, strong cores are rare. But in theory, yes. If all goes well, you will have tapped your core and cast a simple spell by the end of this lesson."

Arthur felt eagerness and fear welling inside of him. Merlin looked up from where he sat at Arthur's feet and beamed.

"How was I using magic without instruction, then?" Isobel asked, hands still working wrinkles into her dress.

"A weak core will remain dormant unless purposefully accessed by a potential sorcerer. The stronger the core, the more likely it will be tapped accidentally, usually when the person is under stress. I would imagine, my lady, that the presence of the Dorocha caused you to tap your core in an attempt to keep yourself safe."

Gaius smiled warmly at her before he continued.

"The noted sorceress Blanchene of Strathclyde outlined the six forms of Drýcræft in her treatise on fundamental magic over a century ago: _Galdorcræft, Lybcræft, Scinncræft, Lícwíglung, Forebícnung_ , and _Níedháde_. _[1]_

"Galdorcræft is the most widely known form - the use of spells and enchantments. Lybcræft is the creation of use of potions. It is the most accessible, and demands very little - if any - power from the sorcerer's core. Scinncræft is the creation of illusions - anything that appears real but is not, as opposed to Galdorcræft, which changes the substance of the person or object. We will spend most of our time on these.

"Forebícnung is prophecy. In theory, this form can be learned and cultivated, but most who do not have an inborn inclination will not touch it, because of the risk of insanity caused by visions of the future.

"The last two are more controversial, even among sorcerers. Morgause has shown a preference for Lícwíglung, what we call Necromancy. Níedháde is the use of another sorcerer's power to fuel your own spells. Once the _cosp_ \- or bond - has been made, the controlling sorcerer may drain the other to the point that they die from the strain.

"There are no moral magics. Most magics among these forms are considered amoral, but there are some whose uses and purposes are wholly dark. These are called the Unrihtlyblác."

Arthur dearly hoped his eyes weren't the only ones glazed over as Gaius sat down.

"We will cover everything eventually, but for today, we will focus on Galdorcræft and learning to access your own core at will. We will use the incantation _Úpáhefe_ , which means _Rise_ or _Fly_. Use your hand, palm open and facing up, to guide the object of your spell - in our case, this pillow."

Gaius sat a green velvet pillow on a nearby table and patted it.

Merlin shifted to his knees, face screwed up and tongue between his teeth in concentration. " _Úpáhefe_ ," he hissed, tips of his fingers caressing the air. The pillow drifted upwards, tumbling lazily with the motion of Merlin's hand. Isobel clung to the arms of her chair at the sight of it, breathing deeply as if to calm herself. The pillow approached her, balanced on its corner tassels, and rubbed at her ankles like a cat until she laughed and put it in her lap, where it nuzzled her hands until she stroked it.

"Well done, Merlin." Gaius's eyes were wide with amazement, his voice full of pleasure. "Excellent control. If you will release it, we shall let Arthur try his hand."

The green pillow went limp in Isobel's lap, and Gaius nodded at Arthur.

"Now, Sire, use the same incantation. Do try not to hurl anything else around the room."

Arthur shifted uncomfortably underneath the other's interested gazes. "I don't know how to reach my core,"

"It is easiest for the inexperienced to sense it while speaking words of power. Do not speak the word only. Command the pillow."

Command. He knew how to do that. "Upahefe," Arthur said sternly, glaring at the pillow.

Nothing.

"Reach within yourself, sire. Feel the command from your inside out."

Arthur tried again, speaking the word slowly, more quickly, the same way he would call a guard or servant. He thought the pillow wiggled once, but it also might have been Isobel's nervous quivering. The word nudged something inside him, however, and he explored it, reaching for it every time he repeated the command until he finally caught it. Warmth and light and a stirring coil that lifted with his breath. Arthur closed his eyes.

"Úpáhefe."

His eyes warmed, and he _felt_ them change. Merlin released an ear-splitting squeal of delight, Arthur opened his eyes to see the green pillow hovering at the level of his open hand, perfectly steady. A laugh bubbled up out of his throat, and he grinned at Gaius.

"Good, sire. Pass it to Merlin, if you would."

"Úpáhefe," Arthur whispered, turning his hand to push towards the pillow. It wobbled through the air and bumped into Merlin's chest before Arthur managed to stop it.

"How do I put it down?"

" _Ágrind_ \- it means descend. Sweep your hand to guide it."

"Ágrind." Arthur stroked his fingers across air, watching as the pillow dropped in front of Merlin. The spell released as the pillow settled in the boy's lap, and Arthur drew a breath, slumping with sudden exhaustion and a feeling of hollowness where the warm coil had been.

Merlin bounced and applauded, glowing with pride.

"Well done, my lord." Gaius beamed. "Now, my lady?"

The prince relaxed in his chair as Merlin used the incantation again to pass the pillow back to Isobel's lap. His Affinity must not be strong, as tired as he felt. Gaius was right, he could find his core now, and it was dim after the exertion. He would never be a proper sorcerer, which suited him just fine; he preferred his sword. But knowing what it felt like helped, and he shared a smile with Merlin, whose eyes shone with magic and contentment.

The pillow lifted instantly under Isobel's command, slamming into the ceiling. She shrieked with surprise and tried to pull it down, smacking Gaius across the head in her attempt. The pillow flew away, reeling, and caught Merlin full in the face with a _fwhump._ He fell over backwards, and Lady Isobel clapped a hand over her mouth, eye brimming up with tears. The slave boy emerged with a smile on his face, levitating the pillow over his hand.

"Catch!"

He hurled the pillow at her with a flick of his wrist, and Isobel's hand came up reflexively.

"Úpáhefe!"

It stopped an inch from her hand, and she stared at it.

"Do not fear your power, my lady," Gaius told her. "It wants to answer to you - you need only focus your commands. Send the pillow on a turn about the room."

Isobel showed no sign of fatigue when Gaius finally allowed her to set down the pillow. A few more objects in the room shuddered as she tried to release her command.

"Small cat, lady," Merlin reminded.

The lady breathed in, eyes closed, and a tension vanished from the air. "There's so much," she whispered.

"You have good control for a beginner," Gaius assured her. "Two thirds of novices, including myself, would have set this poor cushion on fire by now."

Encouraged, Isobel went back to the pillow, weaving it between table legs and screaming every time it reeled out of her control to hurdle into the walls of books. Merlin, meanwhile, levitated everything he laid eyes on: books, chairs, ink from the inkwell, Arthur, who yelled with surprise before giving his slave a grin and stretching out on his back a yard above the ground. The air was soft, infinitely comfortable, and Merlin brightened at his trust.

* * *

Master went to sleep in his hands. The prince's Affinity must not be very strong if he was so exhausted from one small spell, but seeing Master's eyes turn gold still sent a thrill of joy through Merlin. Now, his lord lay on his back, nothing between him and a stone floor but Merlin's focus and a spell, eyes closed, body limp, breathing deep and slow. The trust in it shook Merlin to his knees.

It raised questions too. How many others were like Master, with cores that could barely touch magic without driving them to exhaustion? And how strong was he in comparison? Holding Master here was no strain at all, though the spell niggled at his mind and forced him to pay constant attention to it.

"You must set him down if you begin to feel tired," Gaius admonished.

"I'm not tired," Merlin replied. He felt as if he could do this all day.

"Are you not?"

Merlin looked up at his teacher so the old man could see the truth in his eyes. "No."

"Very well. Gently, my lady. Gently." He turned back to Isobel with another curious glance over his shoulder for Merlin.

The young sorcerer carefully pushed his will against the incantation, trying to remove it to his subconscious control in case something startled him. It slid into place without jolting Master at all, and he thought it might be draining his core faster, but it was not poking at his brain anymore. He left Master's side to shuffle through the books on the table until he found a grimoire to curl up with. Absorbed in the tome, eyes burning gold as he drank in the magical theory in the appendixes, he didn't notice Gaius gawking at him.

Sir Leon descended into the library, stopping short at the sight of his liege levitating in the middle of the room as a green velvet pillow flew wildly about, barking like a hound on the hunt. Lady Isobel pounded her fist on the table in sheer frustration, and the pillow fell to the floor, whining pathetically.

"Any object filled with magic will become somewhat animated," Gaius assured her. "Embrace it. Let it answer your will."

Merlin marked his place in his book with a finger and shifted to his knees, just meeting the knight's eyes before he bowed his head respectfully.

"Is…is he alright?" Sir Leon whispered, crouching beside Merlin with his eyes fixed on Arthur.

"Only sleeping," Merlin assured him. "Gaius showed him how to cast a spell, and him - _his_ \- core not strong. _Is_ not strong."

"The prince used _magic_?"

"Small bit." Merlin warmed with pride for his lord again, brave enough to try something he feared so much only a few months earlier.

Sir Leon sat back on his heels. "Is it safe to wake him?"

"Yes, sir." Merlin stood to do it himself, setting the prince gently on the library floor before touching his shoulder to rose him. "Master?"

Master's eyes fluttered open, clearing as he shifted. "I must have fallen asleep."

"Sir Leon here to see you."

Lady Isobel's pillow soared past, tumbling end over end in a wild tangle of tassels. Sir Leon watched its every movement.

"Leon." Master rose from the floor.

"My lord." The knight bowed. "There are lords here who wish to speak with you."

"From which kingdom?"

"Camelot."

Some survived then? Merlin shifted a little so he could see Master's face.

"They arrived after you retired last night. More importantly, my lord, they were present when you pardoned the Lady Isobel."

The pillow caught fire. Isobel screamed, and Gaius quickly conjured a stream of water. It fell to the ground in a damp puddle.

"They want answers, my lord."

"And you, Leon?"

The knight bowed his head. "You have shown yourself wise, sire, a man whose judgment is not clouded by his fear."

"Which lords?"

"Custegran, Lodver, Pelledur, and Hyrch. They seem to have fled Camelot as soon as the balefire subsided, and were not present for the battle."

Master smiled thinly. "So they are hardly in a position to point the finger."

"Indeed, sire. But they fear that Merlin has enchanted you." The knight looked exasperated. "I assured them this was not the case, but they wish to speak with you - and Merlin - themselves. Your decision to educate a slave _and_ a pagan _and_ a warlock has them both angry and bewildered."

"My lord," Lady Isobel interrupted, rising to join them. Fear still shone behind her eyes, but she seemed to have recovered herself minimally. "You must not feel that you should answer to them. It is they who deserted their lord and kingdom on the field of conflict. Men have been killed for less." The frightened girl vanished entirely behind the face of a steely noblewoman, young, but already wise to the ways of king's courts. "Do not hear a single accusation against yourself until they have begged for and tasted your mercy."

"I have kept two - now three - sorcerers close," Master admonished her.

"Then let them see us. I think I have a plan you will like."

* * *

Arthur found the lords in Ector's audience chamber, accompanied by three exhausted menservants and clearly impatient for his arrival. Ector and Kai artfully shielded him from their attempts at approach as he took his seat, Kai bowing and backing away, Ector taking his place at Arthur's left as the ruler and guardian of Cladborogh. Through all the nobles attempts at pomp, Arthur noticed they were thinner, their clothes more worn than they would usually permit. They clustered as he continued to ignore them, Custegran at last gathering himself to speak, only to be interrupted by Gawain's entrance.

The exiled prince and his manservant - now clearly clothed as a squire and carrying his dagger openly - knelt in polite homage, and Arthur called for a chair for his cousin. Ywain entered with Leon, Norris trailing them, the last of Camelot's once fearsome brotherhood of knights.

The show of power felt like a pathetic facade after the glamour of Camelot's court when Uther held full audience, but the lords were clustered tighter, whispering to each other and casting quick glances around themselves. The sound cut off as Lady Isobel entered with Gaius, elegant in blue velvet, braid wound around her head.

"Lady Isobel," Arthur greeted, holding out his hand to her. "How goes your training with Master Gaius?"

The lady knelt and kissed his signet, looking up with a smile. "He says I am an apt student of magic - but I should exercise caution until I have better control."

"Very good."

She barely turned away to take her place beside Gaius when Merlin stumbled in the door, purposefully obtrusive. The lords stopped whispering to fasten their eyes on him. Isobel might interest them, but Merlin was who they obviously wanted to see. Certainly he had played the broken slave in Uther's fearsome presence, but now, with Arthur openly condoning magic…

Arthur crooked one finger at the boy, exchanging glances long enough to see Merlin mentally pull out all the stops and approach hastily, falling to his hands and knees before he got close.

"Dominus," the boy murmured. _[2]_

"Elthae enthadae."

Merlin crept to him with all the humility of long experience in ego stroking, pressing his forehead against Arthur's feet. "Honac despota."

"Su chronizeis." The prince let a tone of stern rebuke creep into his voice.

"Eleison, dospota." The boy nuzzled him, clasping at his trouser legs, and if Arthur was truly angry, the meek touch would have diffused his frustration like mist. As it was, it reminded the prince of how Merlin used to be, and he stuffed down a grimace to give the boy a disapproving glare.

"Ouk su ei epilanthanomenon ho ophiloies?"

"Oudepotae, honac despota." Merlin dropped low to kiss his feet. "Periespa kai ouk akousa proskalaeis. Carisasthae, erotao se." Fingers tugged gently at his bootstraps.

The headaches and hard work were almost worth the looks on the lord's faces at their conversation. "Pephimosa, ton mikron," Arthur soothed, reaching down to lift Merlin's head. "Ego eimi ou orgizo. All akoueis kreissona cronon mellonta."

"Nai, despota." Merlin shuffled to the side, still on his knees, and leaned his forehead against Arthur's knee, turning just enough to survey the lords who gaped at him. _[3]_

"At least you came when I summoned you," Arthur told Merlin, switching back to the common tongue. "Unlike certain men I see."

The lords flinched. This encounter was not going according to their intentions, and they did not know what to make of his three magic users - Terence was not ennobled, Lady Isobel was no slave, and Merlin could not be called anything in this moment but blissfully subservient, nestled between Arthur's leg and the the broad chair, fingers grooming at his lord's cape with affectionate docility.

"Hæsere." The boy whispered the word like a prayer.

"Hæfta." Arthur smiled at Merlin's upturned face and leaned closer. " _Genóhan_ , Merlin. Ne oferdest þe þing." _[4]_

Merlin seemed to suppress a snicker as Arthur turned back to the lords.

"But I see they are noble enough to commit themselves to my judgment for their cowardice." The prince swept his hand in a benevolent gesture. "You may offer your defense, my lords. As it is, you stand charged with the desertion of your king and kingdom in a time of great need."

Arthur resisted the urge to smirk as the lords looked between each other and Arthur's small court.

"You yourself were absent, Highness," Custegran retorted.

"I left the castle to confront Morgause directly and attempt to break her spells at their origin. Afterwards, I sought out my fellow exiles, and we have protected each other during our trials.

"On the other hand, Sir Ector tells me you have all but recently arrived from Hurwell Castle, where you have harbored since the fall of Camelot." He tilted his head. "And where are the other inhabitants of Hurwell?"

"Dead, Sire." Hyrch did not quite look at him. "We did not know… The Dorocha- and then the skeletons-"

"What damage did they inflict?"

"The Dorocha claim those who stray at night. The skeletons…"

All four lords stared down at the floor for a painful moment, peeking at their fellows as if each excepted anyone besides himself to explain. One of their servants stepped forward, twisting at the edge of his tunic.

"What he means - what we means to say, Mister Prince, Sir, is that, we don't know what them skeletons did, because we took out before they made the castle."

Arthur's fingers tensed on the arm of his chair. "How many did you abandon?"

Their ashamed silence was answer enough. Arthur closed his eyes and let out a breath, part of him sympathizing with their fear, another part enraged by their cowardice.

"And you come here to condemn me for the choices I have made?"

The prince let the rebuke sit and fester in the middle of the room, even those who supported him not meeting his eyes, effected by the second-hand embarrassment.

"I understand your fear, my lords," Arthur said, amazed at the way the tension lifted with his words. Lord Pelledur started to look up. "We have suffered greatly at the hands of those who abuse their arcane powers. But in this time of unrest, it does us no good to make enemies where there are none."

Hyrch approached first, dropping to one knee before Arthur before hesitantly easing the other to the floor and rocking back.

"Sire, I find I must confess that I have twice abandoned both my sacred charge and my honor. I give myself up to your mercy."

"As do I." Pelledur joined Hyrch before the throne.

Custegran glared when Arthur turned to look at him. "You accuse us of abandoning our posts, yet you have abandoned the law itself to serve your own base pleasure. You are blind, and a hypocrite, Arthur, and no son of the Pendragon. I challenge you." Custegran's scarred leather glove slapped down on the stone floor. "Single combat in the sight of God to determine who is right. You win, and I will submit to your judgment." The sneer on the lord's face showed he did not think that a likely possibility.

"I win, and the woman, Gawain's servant, and your catamite go to the block. You end this foolish nonsense of 'good' sorcerers, and abdicate all rights to Camelot's throne."

"I will be his second," Lodver declared.

Arthur's head spun. He was in no position to turn down the challenge, and they could not afford fighting amongst themselves, crammed together as they lived now.

"King of Camelot is an empty title so long as Morgause lives," he hedged. "I will not do battle over a title that neither of us can claim. The combat shall be over the sorcerers' lives only."

"You accept my challenge, then?"

Arthur stood, even as Leon swept between him and the other lord, sweeping up the glove and clenching it in the man's face. "On behalf of _my king_ , I accept your challenge."

"Second." Voices mixed as Gawain, Ywain, and Ector stepped forward as one.

Leon's gaze never wavered from Custegran's face, and Arthur stared at the back of the man's head. "Tomorrow at None. The courtyard. Swords only."

"Agreed."

"And should God grant me victory, Custegran," Leon continued, voice grating and vibrating with furious emotion, "you will surrender your title and your pride, and kiss the boots of my lord's _slave_ , and beg his forgiveness for so gambling his life."

* * *

 **Footnotes**

 _1\. The Old English translator I was using had so many words for different kinds of magic. I went to town with the worldbuilding._

 _2\. Dominus is Latin, meaning lord or master._

 _3\. To be true to the Middle Ages, this conversation should be in Latin, but according to my research, Google Translate's Latin bot is the laughingstock of Latin scholars, due to its absurd translations (inflected dead languages are hard for it to learn). So what you see is Koine Greek. If we're getting really precise, Arthur and Merlin would be studying Attic Greek, but the translation tools I found - and my own slight education - are in Koine, which is a later dialect, but close enough to work for this. Anyway, it's a real conversation. Maybe even grammatically correct to its language._

 _Elthae enthadae. -_ Come here.

 _Honac despota. - This is the form of address, slave to master, in Greek. Both words roughly translate to_ master _, but are different enough that I suspect they have two different meanings that we don't have separate words for and therefore aren't redundant. Or maybe they are, and it's just extra extra respectful. And yes,_ despota _\- absolute ruler/owner - is where we get our word_ despot _._

 _Su chronizeis. -_ You delayed.

 _Eleison, dospota. -_ Have mercy, master.

 _Ouk su ei epilanthanomenon ho ophiloies? -_ You are not forgetting your duty?

 _Oudepotae, honac despota. Periespa kai ouk akousa proskalaeis. Carisasthae, erotao se. -_ Never, Master. I was distracted and didn't hear you call. Forgive me, I beg you.

 _Pephimosa, ton mikron. Ego eimi ou orgizo. All akoueis kreissona cronon mellonta. -_ Be still, little one. I am not angry. But listen better in future.

 _Nai, despota. -_ Yes, Master.

 _4\. And now we've gone to Old English._ Hæsere _and_ Hæfta _are words for_ master _and_ slave. _Old English has several, based on what you're the master of and how you're enslaved (sold, homeborn, captured, debtor, ect.) If I did things right, Arthur is using the word for one who is captured._

 _Genóhan, Merlin. Ne oferdest þe þing. -_ Enough, Merlin. Don't overdo the thing _._

 **More procrastination!**

 _My Master's Word is on Pinterest! While not-writing, I've gone looking for pictures of our characters. Go to Pinterest_ _and add /_ justynekayce/my-masters-word-meet-the-cast/ to see everyone's (sometimes ugly) faces, or search username Ceri Douglas.

 **Guest Replies**

Manni: Thank you for the feedback. Balancing intensity with keeping a pace to a story is always hard, and it is great to hear the reader's perspective. I want to keep you guys interested, not wear you out. :)

Even though I'm a Christian, I face it. We're weird. We do odd stuff and have odd things - like dying Jesus hanging on the wall. Might as well laugh about it.

Arthur is very much on his way to being king, and a good one. And Merlin _is_ going to get better grammar. I will miss writing his ity-bitty vocabulary, but a more mature Merlin deserves lots more words at his disposal.

Guest: You're welcome. Thank you for the read and the review.


	17. Chapter 17

_Guest: Thank you for the review! I hope Leon wins too. ;)_

 _Manni: I thought briefly about making Arthur a warrior-mage, but as you noted, he's a swordsman at the core, and it would be awkward for his character. Leon is extraordinary - and probably my favorite knight in the show. Lately, my muse has ambushed me with scenes, so I'll toss her the idea of a Merlin and Leon scene and cross my fingers. :) Thank you for reviewing!_

 _Once again, we have some Greek in this chapter. The ameture scholar in me cried, because I flat don't know enough to put all my words in the right case, so the grammar is bad - like reeeeaaallly bad. But we will pretend that everything is okay. Due to a reviewer request, translation is now spliced into the middle of the text directly after the language as 'footnotes'. I've tried to tuck it in where its presence won't upset the story flow, while realizing that having to scroll to the bottom of the page also upsets story flow. Let me know how you like this structure. Distracting, helpful, "cut it out with the linguistics, and stick to some dialect of English for Pete's sake, Ceri?"_

 _Welcome to all the new followers! Glad you could join us!_

* * *

Merlin trailed Master into the eating hall, already full of light and voices and the rich smell of meat and bread. Sir Ector welcomed everyone who sought safety in Cladborough Castle, and they had enough food for the winter, but only just enough, and both the knight and the prince knew better than to let rumors of food hoarding spread when rationing was so vital. Everyone ate together for the evening meal, servants and nobles and wandering merchants sitting on the floor around the long platters of food and sharing what they had equally. Master joined Gawain midway through the room, accepting a platter of meat from Terence and choosing several chunks. Merlin let the platters pass him by - Master always took far more than he required and split it evenly with Merlin, and the boy preferred this arrangement and the simple comfort it offered.

At the end of the hall, Custegran and Lodver strode in the door, decked in all the finery they could obtain and trailed by their three servants. Custegran had trimmed his black beard and oiled his curly hair until it shone, and Lodver's short-cropped hair and broken nose looked rough next to the other's elegance. Both halted in shock and disgust at the sight of the disordered and freely mixing company - Leon near the foot of the room, deep in conversation with an armor-smith, Ector's manservant at its head, reclining on his elbow beside his lord and stuffing his face with meat in between their jokes.

No one made room for the two men. Custegran finally found an empty place and snapped his fingers at his servant, speaking sharply. Head hung with embarrassment, the man got on his hands and knees, bracing himself as Custegran sat down rather harder than necessary. Conversation stopped dead as Lodver followed suit, drawing a pained yelp from his own servant, a slender, wiry boy who looked not past seventeen. Lodver smacked the boy's backside with the long end of his belt and waved his hand at the last attendant to fetch their meal.

"The courtliness of Sir Ector's hall has lessened, has it not, my Lord Lodver?" Custegran commented loudly.

"Indeed, my lord. The corrupting influence of sorcery could not be more obvious."

The room at large dismissed Custegran after this comment, and conversation returned to a low murmur. The servant was greeted at the platters with sympathy, those nearby slipping him pieces of food as he gathered two plates for the impatient noblemen. Above setting his plate on his knees like the rest of the company, Custegran forced the last servant to the floor and used his back as a table, threatening to flog him if he twitched and spilled the ale.

Merlin stretched out on his stomach to eat, taking whatever he liked from the prince's plate and sharing his cup. Master clearly disapproved of Custegran's behavior, but more interesting was the reaction of the others gathered there. They grimaced when the nobleman talked of the impending beheading of the resident sorcerers, and looked away when he loudly cited Uther's laws. Master leaned to the side, bracing his palm on the other side of Merlin's back.

"I am sorry Custegran threatened you both," he said, addressing Merlin and Terence at once.

"He doesn't seem popular for it," Terence replied.

"What is the temper of the people?"

"No one has waved a crucifix in my face for two weeks now." Terence grinned. "And a patrol came and asked for healing spells when they had frostbite."

"Favorable, then?"

"If it wasn't before, it is now. Servants judge nobles by their treatment of other servants. Custegran just made a buffoon of himself."

Merlin boosted himself up a little and took the cup out of Arthur's hand to get a drink. Lodver especially was taking his sweet time, shifting constantly on his servant's back and slapping his rump, accusing him of squirming. Firelight caught on tears tracking down the young man's face as he slumped in humiliation, arms quivering with the strain.

"Úpáhefe," Merlin whispered, stretching his magic toward the lord and lifting him just enough to remove his weight from the servant's back. The boy's head snapped up in surprise, and when he scanned the group in confusion, Merlin caught his eyes and smiled before repeating the spell on Custegran. Holding them up was not difficult for him, and both servants still looked exhausted, so he lifted them too, not completely, but enough to ease their arms. Even with his help, they collapsed when their lords finally rose, Lodver's servant tucking his face down to his knees in shame.

"Get up," Custegran spat. "We are leaving, before this rabble starts an orgy."

"Custegran."

Ector's voice rang sharp and cold, echoing in the room and silencing every voice. Even the torches shuddered, and Merlin instinctively put his head down at the weight of authority the knight carried in his tone.

"No one leaves my hall without having eaten. Your men will join you after they have had meat and drink."

Custegran sneered. "You presume to tell us what to do with our own servants?"

"I presume to enforce the law of my own castle. You are a guest here, sir, but so are your servants, and no guest of mine goes to bed hungry while I have food to share with them." Ector turned his attention to the three men on the floor. "Please, eat with us."

The hostility between the two lords and the others in the hall chilled the air, and Custegran looked around, falling back a pace when he received no support. Few so much as looked at him, and those who did curled their lips with distaste.

"If you value you position," Custegran snapped at the servants, "you will not delay."

He turned on his heel and stormed out, Lodver at his side. The door thumped shut behind them, and Ector's people descended on the three servants, lifting them up and drawing them into the group, calling for food to be passed down from the opposite ends of the room where the platters landed after making their rounds. They tore into the meat like wolves, muttering their gratitude over and over again around full mouths.

The youngest, who Lodver sat on, kept gesturing at Merlin during the rare times his mouth was empty enough for him to speak coherently to his companions. Merlin slipped closer to Master until he bumped into his hip, uncomfortable with the attention. The prince rubbed his fingers soothingly against the nape of Merlin's neck, catching his collar just enough to tug it against the side of his throat. Their bond; his security in a swirling world. Merlin nestled his cheek against his folded arms, contentment easing over him as he swung one foot in lazy circles.

"You started with Gaius today?" Terence asked.

Merlin hummed. "We learned _upáhefe_."

"I'll say. _Five_ people?"

"They weren't that heavy."

"No?" Terence raised his eyebrows. "You have any idea who your parents were?"

"My mother…was a kind lady." He could barely remember her face now, his memories consisting mostly of feelings, the ghost of an embrace and a song that he wrapped around himself when life was too heavy to bear alone.

"And your father?"

"I don't remember him."

"I'd stake Galatine he's fey."

"My sword isn't yours to stake," Gawain piped up.

"You wouldn't lose it anyway." Terence's eyes were still fixed on Merlin, and he looked up at the squire.

"Why say that?"

"Faerie always have stronger affinities than humans."

"Like you?"

"Sort of." Terence stretched out beside him, putting his chin on his forearms. "Did Gaius explain Blanchene's Forms?"

"Galdorcræft, Lybcræft, Scinncræft, Lícwíglung, Forebícnung, and Níedháde," Merlin recited. The words sparked on his tongue, seeking purpose.

"Human sorcerers study them all. Faeries are technically more powerful, but the tend to have an affinity mainly for one, which is nearly effortless for them. The others are never even half as strong in them, and occasionally non-existent."

"Morgause is Forebícnung."

Terence nodded. "It would seem so, though she is powerful in the other forms too."

"What's yours?"

The squire looked down, fingers toying with his sleeves. "Níedháde." A muscle in his jaw twitched. "I don't have much power of my own, but I can latch on to the power of other sorcerers and use it."

"How many can you bond?"

"However many I want," Terence whispered. "I've never tried it, but our best enchanters said I'm unlimited." He glanced at Merlin, a deep sadness in his brown eyes. "Most sorcerers can manage ten, at the most. Níedháde drains the binder's core too…unless you're me."

He seemed disgusted by the idea. Merlin shifted, still lazy with a full stomach and the firelight. "You don't like your powers?"

"The strength is not mine - just borrowed or stolen from others. I feel like a magical slaver sometimes."

Merlin snorted. "You talking to a slave, Ter. Seen many slavers. You are not like them."

"Thanks." Terence crooked a smile.

"A TOAST!"

Merlin jumped at the yell, which came from Ector's head groom. The man stood atop a barrel, precariously balanced, cup held high.

"To Isobel, Camelot's lady enchantress, who ain't made nothin' float or set the curtains on fire all night!"

Isobel joined in the laughter, and lifted her cup to the grinning stablehand.

"An' to Merlin!"

Merlin froze in his place as every eye in the room fastened on him.

"For helping these chaps just now. We all here are wary round sorcerers, them bein' powerful and wild an' all, but you're right square, you are, and honorable."

Shouts of agreement rounded the room, none louder than from Custegran and Lodver's servants, and Merlin ducked his head, blushing.

"An' finally, to Sir Leon's health and his brawny sword-arm. Knock ol' crusty-face on his arse, sir."

The gathered people cheered, and Leon raised his own cup in return. "It will be my distinct pleasure."

* * *

The courtyard was packed the next day at noon. Arthur took his seat on chair tucked into a nook along the wall that overlooked the contest. The people pressed close all the way to the corded boundary that marked the space where Leon and Custegran would duel, nudging each other and craning their necks for a better view. The two men stood at opposing corners, Norris working over Leon's armor with familiar ease, Custegran's manservant rigid and sullen and sporting a fresh black eye.

Merlin sat down by Arthur's feet, wrapping himself tightly in his cloak and huddling into the tail of the wolf fur draped around his neck.

"Merlin?" Arthur leaned over his knees to try and see the boy's face.

"What-" Merlin licked his lips and tilted his head back to look up at him. "What if Sir Leon lose?"

"He won't." Arthur pressed a hand against Merlin's collar to calm him. "Leon was always our best fighter, myself excluded."

Fear still filled Merlin's eyes as he turned away, drawing up his knees and curling himself deep into his cloak.

A servant dragged another chair into their nook, and Gawain seated himself, lips thin.

"Merlin," he murmured, beckoning the boy close to his knee. "Should Custegran defeat Leon, Terence will take you and Lady Isobel to the nearest Gateway - without Arthur's knowledge or mine, of course. You will be fugitives, but alive. Terence's people will look after you."

"Gateway?" Merlin whispered.

"A passage into Faerie," Terence explained. "We will be beyond Custegran there."

Merlin nodded, and settled back between Arthur and Gawain, somewhat calmer. In the courtyard, Lady Isobel pulled a golden ribbon from her hair to tie around Sir Leon's arm. It gleamed against his silver armor as the two approached where Arthur and Gawain sat.

"My lords." Leon bowed and stepped close, putting his hand on the ledge near their feet. "Squire Terence, Merlin, as your champion, I would be honored to wear your colors."

Terence startled, then worked off his green neckerchief and knelt to tie it around Leon's arm. Custegran glared at them and spat to the side as Merlin dug out his narrow and tattered blue handkerchief to tie beneath Terence's favor. With a flourish, the knight saluted the three sorcerers, then the princes, before turning away to face Custegran in the corded square. Lady Isobel twisted her hands in her skirt.

Arthur rose and breathed down to his toes. "Segarus Custegran, Lord Lanchester, has challenged the Crown - here championed by Sir Leon of Dinton - to single combat over our laws regarding sorcery and sorcerers. Should Sir Leon lose, said laws shall be held null and void, and any sorcerers in the power of the crown shall be executed forthwith, as commanded by the laws established by the late King Uther Pendragon."

Someone out in the crowd booed, and Arthur lifted a hand to quiet the people before it spread too far. They trailed off, hissing. "Should Lord Custegran be defeated, he shall forfeit all lands and titles and offer public apology to those sorcerers whose deaths he has demanded, according to Sir Leon's pleasure, and all laws here established by the crown concerning magic and those who use it shall be upheld. Are these not the terms?"

"They are," Sir Leon called. Custegran nodded tightly, gripping the hilt of his sword.

"The fight shall be by the knight's rules, yet not to the death. Any man who strikes a mortal blow on purpose shall be held guilty of murder."

The captain of Ector's guard held the two men apart with open hands, speaking sternly to both before looking to Arthur for permission to proceed. The prince dipped his head, sitting, and the captain stepped away.

Custegran rushed without hesitation, feet imbalanced, sword swinging wildly. Leon ducked away, eying his opponent and lightly knocking the other blade other side. His opponent turned like an angry bull, shoulders hunched, teeth barred. Merlin wrapped himself into his cloak again, gnawing his lip as the two men circled each other.

The flailing attack moved almost too quickly for Arthur to follow. Custegran lunged, and Leon struck back, turning his blade aside, letting the lord's sword slide uselessly away as his own motion carried him into collision with Leon and the knight's swift counterstroke. The crowd gasped as the knight's sword turned aside, sheering off Custegran's mail as the knight twisted to avoid impaling the other man, bearing all his weight into him instead.

Custegran fell backward, head knocking against the ground, and Leon stepped clear. The lord scrambled to his feet, swearing, and swung again.

Leon met him lightly, blade moving as quick as thought, clashing, binding, turning Custegran's sword into the ground. The knight slammed up with his pommel, catching his opponent's throat. Merlin hissed, brushing his own neck. Custegran stumbled to his knees, gasping as Leon moved out of arm's reach to let him recover.

When Custegran stood again, he was drunk with anger, cheeks flushed and nose bright red. He spat to the side and lunged, swords scraping and clashing as both men struggled for control. Steel grated, caught, and Custegran lost his grip on his sword, falling to his hands and knees. Leon followed him down, ramming his knee into Custegran's back and settling the tip of his sword in the nape of his neck.

"Do you yield?"

The courtyard of people held their breath in silence, clothes rustling as they swayed for a better view of them men on the ground. Tense moments passed, and Arthur's fingers sunk into the fur edging his cloak. If Custegran refused to yield…

"I yield, damn you."

The captain of the guard retrieved the nobleman's sword before Leon let him rise. Norris joined his master, light on his feet, hand close to his dagger and watching Custegran's every movement.

Arthur stood, releasing a pent-up breath. "Sir Leon is the victor!"

His people shouted their approval as Ector's captain lifted Leon's arm into the air.

Custegran sulked from the field, ducking under the ropes and throwing his helmet at his servant, who stepped back, letting the thing fall to the ground. The defeated lord rounded on the man, who shook his head, pulling away from his former master to approach Leon and fall at his feet, one hand over his heart. The knight raised him quickly, clapping him on the shoulder.

Lodver's two servants disarmed the seething lord before Ector's guards took custody of him, and Lodver himself drew away, hiding from the gaze of the crowd in his cloak and furs. Arthur jumped down from his place as Leon pressed his way through the friendly people, satisfaction all over his face. The knight saluted him before bowing deeply.

"Congratulations, Sir Leon."

"I am honored to defend my leige."

"My servant cannot leave me!" Custegran complained as soon as he was near enough Arthur to be heard.

"As per the rules of combat, should you lose, your horse and armor are forfeit to the victor, and your attendants are free to choose him as their master," Arthur returned. "And according to the rules of this contest, your lands and titles are forfeit to the crown from now on, and once Sir Leon is satisfied with the apology he requires from you, you will have twenty-four hours to leave Cladborogh."

"I will not begrudge the departure," Custegran hissed.

Arthur barely restrained himself from folding his arms and kept his stance open and resolute, on hand on the hilt of his sword, the other loose at his side. "What apology do you require of Custegran?"

Leon planted his feet. "Custegran of Lanchester has begrudged his servant food, rest, and raiment, and treated him shamefully. As apology, he shall leave to him one woolen tunic, one set of woolen trousers, two pairs of socks, one pair of boots, one fur-lined cloak - all of serviceable condition and without holes or patches - and five pieces of gold."

"You would permit a lord of the realm to be so insulted?" Custegran interrupted.

Arthur turned cold eyes to the seething man. "I see no noble, only a subject who has defied my laws, threatened my slave, and demanded the murder of some others of my people. Continue, Sir Leon."

"He has unjustly bargained the lives of three of my lord's faithful subjects. One of these is my lord's own slave, and it is my understanding of the law that to threaten or harm the possessions of the king is an attack on the king himself - and therefore treason."

Custegran blanched.

"For this insult, I demand that he beg the pardon of the Lady Isobel, and I further beseech the crown to bestow his lands, titles, and such servants as may have attended him upon her."

Arthur nodded. "It shall be done." The titles were empty while Morgause controlled Lanchester Castle, but as dear as the man held his title, the loss would be an appropriate blow.

"Furthermore, he shall beg the pardon of Squire Terence, and give him his golden cloak clasps. And in keeping with the great insult to your person through his actions, my king, Segarus Custegran shall humble himself before your slave, Merlin, and beg his forgiveness with his face to the ground, and kiss his feet."

"Can skip last part?" Merlin ventured, eyes down.

Leon paused. "He has insulted you."

Merlin huddled his feet away under his cloak. "I not want him touch me."

"The hem of your cloak then," Leon said firmly, eyes blazing.

"Can't I give him gold?" Custegran whined.

"A slave can own nothing," Arthur remonstrated. "What you give him as recompense cannot be material."

Custegran looked cornered, and Arthur did not pity him. "Lady Isobel, please approach."

The young woman curtsied deeply and folded her hands as Leon swung Custegran to face her.

"Her forgiveness," the knight growled.

"My…most…humble apologies. To you, my lady." Custegran's lips curled, and Leon prodded him. "I beg your forgiveness for my insult."

"Granted." Isobel tilted her chin as Arthur exchanged glances with Sir Leon. Hardly sincere, but it was the best they would get out of the man.

"Lady Isobel - Lanchester Castle and the title of Lady of Lanchester are yours, and the services of the former lord's manservant."

Isobel bent her head. "Thank you, your highness."

"This is outrageous!" Lodver pushed past the group to stand before the prince. "Your father-"

"Is dead, God rest his soul." Arthur cut through the interruption and stared Lodver down until the man averted his eyes. "I will not honor the dead by sustaining injustice."

Lodver choked on whatever he intended to say next, eyes darting between Arthur, the close-pressed crowd, and Custegran.

"Now, the Squire Terence." Leon looked to be enjoying himself as the lithe squire sat on the edge of the nook and dropped to the ground. Terence stood tall at Arthur's side, all sorcerer, and something else the prince could not place.

 _He's a faery, Gawain said._

Terence's inhuman origin was easy to forget, but in this moment, he was otherworldly, poised as a king without a shred of arrogance in the tilt of his chin, deep blue cloak stirring in the eddies of wind that made their way into the corners of the courtyard.

"Thank you for championing our cause, Sir Leon."

Arthur could not tell if the young man referred to Merlin and Isobel alongside himself, or if he used the royal We. The knight bowed, and Terence returned it with an elegant dip of his head. Custegran positively cowered and avoided the steady brown eyes when they turned to him.

"Apologies, sorcerer," he muttered, tugging at the bright clasps on his cloak.

"Accepted." Terence took the glittering clasps, each intricately engraved and strung together with an elegant chain.

"I cannot see how God chose to vindicate you." The dispossessed nobleman was half turned away, nearly sulking.

"Because he is merciful," Terence replied. "And thank you, sire." He bowed to Arthur, commanding his space without presumption until he diminished again, not lifting his eyes when he stood straight and returned to the foot of the nook somewhere behind the prince.

"Merlin," Arthur called.

He heard the sound of the boy jumping to the cobblestones behind him and reached back to draw him all the way to his side.

"Stand tall," he whispered to him. "You deserve this."

Merlin gave him a double glance and swallowed, shifting his feet.

Custegran eyed the boy. "Oun hellevizeis, meirakion?"

"Nai," Merlin replied.

"Stugema diplazo." Custegran's lip curled, and Merlin flinched. "Anagnostaes. _Apotheos_."

Arthur glared at him, and Custegran looked down at the ground. "Kai aitaeteon sou apolutrosin gar aikia mou," he muttered.

Leon prodded him in the back, and he dropped stiffly to his knees at Merlin's feet, where the boy stared at him.

"Ego emi maeden," Merlin whispered, shaking his head. "Kataema. Hoh doulos mou despotou."

Custegran tilted his head. "He teach you to say that?"

"Apothestos ouk _me_ , all' ta semnoma kai ta euboulia basileas sou." Merlin met the lord's eyes.

"Amphoteros echei?" Custegran scoffed.

"Ean edothaes seaouton to eleou to…" Merlin trailed off, fidgeting with his cloak until he drew Custegran's attention to his collar. "Sunieas poieis. Ginosko chraeston tou."

Custegran started to open his mouth, and Merlin cut him off, suddenly angry. "And you spit on it. If you had a bad master, you would not so fast be impudent at a good one."

* * *

 **Translation Footnotes:**

 _Oun hellevizeis, meirakion? -_ You really speak Greek, boy?

 _Nai._ \- Yes

 _Stugema diplazo. Anagnostaes. Apotheos._ \- You're a double abomination. A slave trained to read. Pagan. _(lit. Far from God)_

 _Kai aitaeteon sou apolutrosin gar aikia mou._ \- And yet I must beg for forgiveness from you for my insult.

 _Ego emi maeden. Kataema. Hoh doulos mou despotou._ \- I am nothing. Property. My master's slave.

He teach you to say that?

 _Apothestos ouk me, all' ta semnoma kai ta euboulia basileas sou. -_ You didn't insult me, but the dignity and judgement of your lord.

 _Amphoteros echei?_ \- Has he either?

 _Ean edothaes seaouton to eleou to…Sunieas poieis. Ginosko chraeston tou._ If you gave yourself up to his mercy... You would know he does. I know his kindness.

 **End Footnotes**

* * *

"Oh?"

"It is dark, cold place outside of Master's door when him - he - throw you there."

"Are you suggesting I beg for mercy?"

"Not of me, but of prince. He has ocean-full."

Merlin's gaze drifted from the fuming man in front of him to Arthur, affection in his eyes.

"Never." Custegran spat on the cobblestones. "What else, Sir Leon? How long must I scrape my nose in the dirt before you are satisfied to let me leave this den of vagabonds?"

"You are alive by virtue of the king's mercy, and you will show him the appropriate respect."

The man hissed through gritted teeth, muttering curses under his breath as he bent the rest of the way to the ground. Merlin yelped when Custegran grabbed the hem of his cloak and shoved it roughly against his lips, tossing it away and glaring up at Leon. "Satisfied?"

"Hardly. I have no use for insincere apologies."

"What, shall I lick his feet?"

"Merlin has expressed a desire not to be touched by the likes of you, and I will honor it. With my lord's permission, I will hold your obligations fulfilled." Leon looked to Arthur.

"Very well. Custegran of Lanchester, you are dismissed and banished from my sight."

"Excellent." Custegran stomped to his feet, thrusting people aside in his haste to get away. "Come on, Lodver!"

The other lord did not look at him, and Custegran halted.

"Tobias?"

Lodver shuffled away, pretending not to notice him as he approached Arthur with a bow. Custegran sneered and whirled away, vanishing back into the castle with two guards trailing behind him.

"Masterfully dealt with," Lodver simpered, bending low to kiss Arthur's hand. "I truly see the Pendragon in you, my lord. And a learned and loyal slave." He chucked Merlin under the chin before the boy could step away. "You bring honor to your master. Alas-"

He brought one hand to his heart, but not in time to hide its trembling.

"You have inspired me to return to my estates, sire, and I shall depart at once."

"So soon?" Arthur asked politely.

Lodver licked his lips. "I would love to stay, of course, but, I must, ah, leave. Yes." His eyes darted towards Sir Leon, to the trio of sorcerers, the place where Custegran vanished. "You are, yes, more than merciful, sire, and I am terribly sorry I was so blind. Custegran led me astray, and I listened to him to my shame - I hope it was not too much for me not to entertain the promise of your highness's good graces in the future? I shall not defy you again, I swear it."

Arthur dipped his head, humming, and the lord stammered on.

"As a token of my loyalty, I would leave you with a gift."

"That's not neces-"

"I must, sire - in exchange for your goodness!"

Fear raged behind Lodver's eyes, that he flattery might not be enough, that something more was required to buy his prince's pardon and deflect his wrath. The lord grabbed his younger servant - the boy he sat on the evening before - by the scruff of the neck and flung him at Arthur's feet.

"You cannot either give or sell away a freeman." Arthur glared at the man, who smiled, eel-like.

"No, but I can sell - or gift - my bastard. Noble blood without the rank, about the height of your boy, and well-trained in etiquette. He knows to be well-pleasing."

Arthur said nothing, and Lodver's smile slipped in the face of his cold glare. Half-smothered sobs from the boy on the ground cut through the horrified silence.

"I will accept your son into my service, but I do not thank you. Do me the credit of leaving my presence, Lord Lodver."

"Sire." The lord bowed stiffly and all but fled.

"Sire-" Leon protested.

"The sooner we are rid of such men, the better."

Merlin was beside the youth in an instant, kneeling and swathing him in a generous share of his cloak. Disjointed sobs turned into outright weeping. Arthur stepped around them to help hide them from the curious crowd and give them space, as Merlin seemed to have the situation in hand.

"Don't be afraid," he heard the boy say. "You have gentle master now."

Arthur pretended to ignore them, making small talk with Sir Leon about the duel until the weeping petered out and he turned to see Lodver's son drying his eyes on patched sleeves. The boy dropped his gaze fearfully when Arthur crouched down beside him.

"As far as I'm concerned, the only bastard here is your father. What is your name?"

"My mother called me Dinadan, sire - master."

"Well, Dinadan, the fact is, I don't really need another attendant. But…" Arthur wracked his brains as Dinadan's face fell. "Our physician needs an orderly."

Dinadan nodded, a little light coming back into his eyes. "Yes, si- master."

"Just sire is fine. Go on."

A smile just ghosted the boy's lips before he rose and scurried away.

* * *

If Merlin was usually precise when serving Arthur, he was especially so tonight, dressing him for bed with extra care.

"I'm not going to replace you," Arthur assured him, thinking of Lodver's desperate 'gift'.

Merlin looked up, puzzled. "I know."

Arthur paused. If this wasn't about Dinadan… Merlin folded all his clothes carefully into the wardrobe and turned down the bed, smoothing the wrinkles in the covers.

"You mind I stay here tonight?" he asked, not looking up.

So something _was_ wrong. Merlin had taken to sleeping in a cozy alcove just off of Arthur's room, shielded by a curtain and lit with its own little round window. Close enough they could hear each other breathing in the dead of night, but leaving them both some privacy.

"Not at all."

Merlin huddled next to him like he had the night they nearly froze to death. His presence was familiar, the weight pushed against Arthur comfortable, but the way he latched to Arthur's limbs made the prince nervous.

"Merlin?"

"No want leave you."

"You won't." Arthur shifted an arm around the boy.

"What about others who hate magic; hate a slave who knows things? What if they like Custegran, like Lodver? You banish all?" Merlin pulled back to see his face. "I read enough know you push too much power, they angry, fight you. Make civil war. All because they not see me like you saw me, just see threat, and want it gone."

"Ector came around. So will the others."

"I almost die today."

Arthur gripped his shoulder hard. "I would not have let that happen to you, and neither would Gawain, or Leon, or any of the others."

Merlin shook his head, tears brimming up. "I think about. I would die if leave you."

"You would be free, and it would take getting used to, but I think you would live a good life."

"No." Merlin pushed impossibly closer, burying his face in Arthur's shoulder. "You remember, months ago, when I gave you my oath?"

"Yes."

"When Gaius show me how to feel my core, I found oath in me. So strong. Manage show Gaius, he call … organic. Not spell magic. I guided with thought, with want, with things I knew then."

His body trembled, and Arthur started to feel damp on his shoulder.

"What happened?"

"Then, all I know is that out of many cruel masters, I had kind one now. I wanted you to be master, and no one else, ever again." Merlin pulled his face out of Arthur's shoulder, eyes haunted. "I put spell on me, to die if I left you, so no other master could hurt. If I go too far from you, I will lay down, go sleep, never wake up."

"How far?" Arthur whispered.

"Not know."

"Can you get rid of it?"

"I knit it in my core, very strong. Maybe, if I know more."

"We've been a few miles apart before." Arthur tried to reassure him with lightness he did not feel. "I don't think you need to worry too much."

"If I had gone Otherworld…"

Merlin shook his head and burrowed back into Arthur's side.

"Do you regret your oath?" It could be that he might be able to release Merlin from it, depending on the structure, or if he accessed his core while doing it.

The other let out a long breath, relaxing. "No."

"I am afraid for my people," the prince admitted. "Afraid of what will happen when Morgause learns I am alive. It isn't wrong to worry about what could happen."

"Father Josep, he say God say to not be worried."

"Well, there are different kinds of being worried."

"What they - _are_ they?"

Arthur fumbled for a moment. "Do I look like a priest? Bother Father Josep tomorrow. Look, today could have ended badly, but it didn't. Sure, the surviving lords might not like you, but they might come around. We don't _know_. So...just go to sleep."

"Sleep not make bad things go away."

"Sleep make me feel better about them, _Mer_ lin. Now rest."

* * *

 **Translation Info**


	18. Chapter 18

_**A/N: Real Life Intrudeth! I'm still learning the balance between adulting and writering. Thank you to my lovely readers. Like, I literally can't thank you enough for the follows and favorites and reviews that keep me motivated to write through the blocks and the days I would really rather not. Gooey warm virtual brownies to all of you.**_

 _ **Manni: Lodver is a huge jerk-face and I am having a glorious time plotting the best ways to make him dead. We may see bits of them later (to tie up loose ends), but these villains are faced and vanquished. Next level for our boys. Dinadan, is as much as a mystery for me as you at the moment. He sort of nudged his way in, and I'm excited to see where he goes myself.**_

 _ **Thank you for the feedback on translation. I've gone back in the previous chapter and footnoted it in-line. It seems to work, so baring misery and outcry from other readers, I will probably splice translations in from now on instead of just tacking them at the bottom of the document.**_

 _ **Guest: Thank you for the review!**_

* * *

Merlin did not let go of Arthur all night. The prince woke stiff from laying in one position, one of Merlin's legs hooked around his and the boy's fingers twisted tightly into his sleep shirt. The prince tried to shift, and Merlin whimpered and pulled him closer, eyes flashing gold under his lids as the blankets grew too heavy for Arthur to push away.

"Merlin-"

"No. Shtay," Merlin slurred.

Arthur groaned. Some part of the last two days had rattled Merlin far more than he let on for him to be this clingy.

"I don't mind sharing a bed with you, especially with all your nightmares, but this is ridiculous."

Merlin did not wake up, only snuffled and managed to squirm his way even closer, weighting the blankets even more. Arthur poked him in the side.

"Wake up."

"Huh?" The boy's eyes fluttered open and focused.

"It's morning, lazybones."

With a yawn, Merlin untangled himself and released the spell weighing down the blankets. Arthur stretched in his newfound space, working the sleep out of his muscles.

Lodver and Custegran should have left at dawn, which was already bright in the sky. Two of their three servants remained here - the third too devoted to Lodver to accept their offers of assistance and freedom. With the longer days, they should reach Borda by dusk, if they were wise enough to travel to the nearest village.

Merlin tumbled across him, hair awry, and dropped prostrate on the floor, stretching his arms in front of him.

"You can stop that any time you want," Arthur muttered, peering over the edge of the bed."

"I sit so much all day, not move last night, I think. Feels good on back." He arched his shoulders with a comfortable groan.

Arthur got out of bed without stepping on the boy and pushed the curtain aside, letting a little more daylight stream into the room. He could see the gate from here, where three well-bundled figures - two carrying packs - trudged out under the portcullis. The castle wall obscured them for a moment, Custegran longest, as Lodver and his servant left him to struggle with the unfamiliar weight of the burden on his back.

The door hinges creaked, and the prince turned from the window, seeing Merlin, kneeling comfortably beside the bed with his head hung low to stretch his neck. Dinadan stood inside the doorway, knuckles white on the edges of a breakfast tray, eyes flicking in Arthur's direction as he held out the steaming food like a talisman.

"I brought breakfast, sire?" The boy swallowed several times.

"Thank you."

Dinadan laid the table, dishes wobbling in his trembling fingers, as Merlin helped Arthur into his dressing robe. The blond boy was unkempt, his clothes ill-fit on a body that was too thin, and a the desperate search for his master's approval clouded his eyes and made his movements clumsy. He retreated behind Arthur's chair, hanging on to his own wrist as the prince approached.

"There are two more goblets in the cabinet," Arthur said, dropping into his chair and breathing in the scent of fresh bread. "Merlin always shares my breakfast, and so will you."

Merlin settled cross-legged beside his chair, glancing a question at Arthur who gestured at him to stay quiet. Dinadan retrieved the goblets, startling back when Arthur pushed his hands away to fill all three himself. The bread was still warm, and the center steamed as Arthur tore it in pieces, dividing the meal between three plates - the smallest and lightest portion for Dinadan, whose starved stomach would not manage too much food yet, a larger share of the cheese for Merlin. By the time he finished and wiped his fingers, Merlin had coaxed Dinadan to his side, where he knelt, wringing his hands in the hem of his tunic. The contrast of trust and fearful confusion between the two of them was nearly comical. Arthur gave Dinadan food first, knowing Merlin would wait for his portion without any misgivings.

Dinidan looked like he thought his plate might eat him alive for daring to dine off it, and he kept a constant eye on Arthur, who pretended to ignore him. The boy devoured his bread and meat with frantic haste and licked up every crumb, panting around bites.

"Merlin," Arthur said, pausing to enjoy the savor of the smoked ham, "you'll come with me today. Ector wants to find a way to construct campsites that are protected from the Dorocha so that the roads can be traveled again, and we'll need your knowledge."

"Gaius knows more than me."

"Gaius has other tasks, and you know where to look for what you don't know."

Merlin bobbed his head, grinning with pleasure at the praise.

"Dinadan, you'll shadow Gaius. Give him whatever assistance he needs until the Vespers bell. Find me in the banquet hall, and I'll give you your supper."

"Yes, sir."

Arthur was fairly certain that frequent and ungrudging feedings had built a large part of Merlin's trust, and he intended to try the same thing on Dinadan.

* * *

Merlin cracked open the only tome in the library with the twisting title of _Lícwíglung_. A few others spoke of Necromancy, but only in the most general terms. This cover was slashed and singed, and ominous rusty stains splotched the spine and edges. The the pages stank of time and death, and had sense of lingering evil, as if the book had seen too many horrors.

Twisting circles met his eyes, spirals that turned in on themselves, runes that must be written in blood to have their effect. He tried not to look too much at the diagrams and figures. How many victims. What age they must be. How to administer the ritual cuts, where to make incisions for an evisceration that would not damage the victim's internal organs, since they were needed for other parts of the spell. Where to break their bodies for right angles, how to align them with the points of the compass. A scrawled note in the margin suggested an alternative method for blood-letting and gathering that was quicker and more efficient. His magic hissed, and he skimmed on. Spell after spell, all of death and fear.

Dorocha, dorocha…

 _Spectre's Tutch_

 _By this spell, ye shall have al power summone to calle the fytful dead frome the nether-world and bynd them unto thy wil. These are called the Dorocha._

Merlin lunged over the book, finger running along the text.

 _…lite the fyre of hawthorne woode…_

 _…smyte thy victim thorow his harte…_

 _…caste the knife unto the flame…_

The Dorocha, the text declared, would be subjected to the will of the one who called them forth. Anyone else wishing protection from them - he turned the page and smoothed it down - would have to beg it from the original spellcaster.

 _This,_ a former reader noted in a narrow and winding scrawl that tucked easily into the margins, _is not always possible. The caster may be your enemy, or ill-disposed to like you or answer your plea, no matter how humble._

The notes continued in the blank space after the original text ended.

 _One might defy any undead with a sword forged in the breath of a dragon. Alas, few dragons will consent to tarry so long at a blacksmith's forge for what is to them a base and pointless task, and such weapons are rare. Neither will they repel the undead, only permit the wielder to do battle with them, and no warrior may fight forever._

 _A mere circle of any substance will repel the living dead for a short time. (See Osgoph's journals on the Dark Arts, in the second volume.) This, then, must the basis for our ward._

 _The best and most permanent circle is one of stone, built low to the ground with no breaks. A ring built by willing hands works better than those built by those unwilling, for reasons I cannot discover. Underneath the stones, lay St. John's Wort, garlic, thyme, and above all, rosemary, for these are odious to the undead._

 _Plant such herbs close about the circle for a broader barrier. A lighted fire will deter the Dorocha altogether so long as it burns. Also plant comfrey and calendula beside the herbs, as they will best treat wounds inflicted by the undead._

Merlin marked the place in the book with his finger and rushed to the table where Master sat in close conference with Sir Ector.

"I find it." He dropped the book on the table and pointed to the added notation. "This one know how to keep Dorocha out."

"And how to kill them," Master whispered, skimming the notes quickly. "You're certain Spectre's Tutch was the spell Morgause cast?"

"I could never forget it."

"The ward doesn't seem difficult." Master pushed the book across the table to Sir Ector.

"You couldn't move an army easily," the knight noted. "But traveler's sanctuaries, spaced a day's travel apart upon the road…"

"And anyone who wanted could construct it," Arthur added. "Merlin - well done. Take the book and ask Gaius about our herb supply - and if we can find a dragon. A sword that could kill these things could mean the difference for us."

* * *

"It's the end of winter, Merlin, and we've had more people here than Ector was prepared for." Gaius rose from where he bent over the old book. "But when the herbs sprout, we should have no difficulty."

Light edged its way into the physician's chamber. Gaius had spent much of his time among the travelers at Cladborogh, and the books and trinkets he bartered from them spread across the shelves and tables.

"And a dragon-sword?"

In the corner, Dinadan stopped trying to look occupied by the herbs he nudged with his pestle.

"You should go to Terence and ask what his people know. If there are still dragons, they are more likely to speak with them."

Merlin swayed from one foot to the other as Gaius copied the margin-notes into one of his journals, checking the herbs several times to ensure he did not omit any by accident.

"In the meantime, I will see what we have to spare for testing the circle."

The old physician flapped his hand at Merlin to run along, and he scooped up the book and left with a wave for Dinadan, who returned it belatedly. Terence would likely be in Gawain's chambers, if he wasn't with Gawain on the training grounds. He chose a route that let him see the swath of grass and did not see either among the figures drilling on the lawn.

Gawain's door was shut firmly, unusual for the young prince, who often kept the door ajar during the day.

"Who is it?" Terence called when Merlin knocked.

"Merlin!" he yelled at the wood.

Quick voices inside, nervous, reassuring, sharp. One sounded female. Lady Isobel?

Terence pulled the door open.

"We find way stop Dorocha eat life!" Merlin winced inwardly at his lapse in grammar. Terence's eyes brightened, and he pulled Merlin into the room, shutting the door behind them.

"Where?"

Gawain's chambers were smaller, but much the same as his master's. Bed swathed in green curtains, simple couch for his squire, oak table that served as a desk, fireplace with chairs-

Terence was not alone, and he was not with the Lady Isobel. The woman sitting before the fire was beautiful beyond belief, with jade-green eyes and delicate features framed with loose curls of black hair. Her outer gown was of sweeping charcoal lace, tattered in places, a deep hood thrown back over her shoulders.

Merlin thought of Morgause and shivered, clutching the book close to his chest.

Terence stood aside, sweeping his hand to present Merlin. "My lady, this is the boy I told you of."

"Arthur's slave?" Her voice was beautiful too, gentle yet strong, like the river.

"Yes. Merlin, may I introduce Arthur's sister, Lady Morgan le Fey."

Merlin stared. Besides Gawain and Morgause, his master had no living family - that he spoke of at least.

"My brother has never mentioned me?"

Merlin shook his head, and Lady Morgan looked hurt.

If she was a princess, royalty should be greeted like one's master - facedown, or at least with gaze averted. Merlin could not bear to make himself so vulnerable. She stood, and he watched, waiting for any sign that she was an imposter. Perhaps Morgause in disguise.

"He will be glad to see you," Terence assured her.

Lady Morgan ignored the squire, closing the distance between herself and Merlin with a single stride and exposing his neck with a gentle touch of her fingers. She smelled of pine and cinnamon.

"He _collared_ you." A muscle in her cheek twitched.

Merlin stepped out of reach. Witch. He could feel the spark of magic rising in her with her temper and readied a shield in the back of his mind, shifting the book so he could free his hands.

"Arthur had no hand in training him."

Lady Morgan's eyes flicked to Terence, and the aura of power lifting around her diminished. "He did not grow so much like our father, then?"

"No."

Merlin kept his shield ready as Lady Morgan returned to her seat by the fire.

"I am no threat to you." Her sharp green eyes trailed over the book in Merlin's hands. "Perhaps we might do each other the respect of not holding spells at the ready?"

"Why are you so pretty?" Merlin stayed in his place, back tight with nerves. Like Morgause. Too much like Morgause.

"Is that a compliment?" the lady tilted her head, and a smile played across her lips.

"Enchantresses tend to make themselves beautiful as a matter of habit," Terence explained. He was poised between the two of them, not quite blocking Merin's view, but close enough that neither could throw a spell without hitting him.

"I never claimed I was immune to the vanities of my sex, Your Grace." Lady Morgan's eyes flicked to Merlin. "But beauty is rarely considered a threat, unless you intend to become a priest?"

Her hands were still, and he could sense no gathering of magic around her, no tightness in her shoulders or eyes that suggested she might attack. The two green-jeweled rings on her fingers radiated power. She might use them, and give no warning, and he had never used his magic for combat before, only read about it. Lady Isobel was not yet controlled enough to spar, and Terence couldn't tap Merlin's power _and_ fight with him without hurting them both. His instinct protected him before, but never from someone who knew he was a threat, who had time to prepare, to plan. His inexperience and resulting weakness must be obvious to a confident witch such as this.

"By Avalon," she murmured. "You're a nervous creature. Terence?"

The squire half turned.

"He's seen Morgause?" Morgan's voice was shrewd.

"Twice," Terence replied. "Both of them spells to raise the dead."

"Any other sorcerers?"

"Me. Lady Isobel."

"She's not an enchantress yet."

"No."

"Any others?"

"Not friendly."

Morgan laid her hand over her heart, pulling Merlin's eyes to the low cut of her bodice. Not indecent, exactly, just a graceful sweep across her bosom where it started to curve. Her pale skin was flawless and smooth, shadowed with firelight, collarbones framed dramatically with black fabric and lace that showed just enough- He shut his eyes, opened them again to a soft smirk, not unkind, but one that told him she knew his eyes had not been on her face. Merlin's ears heated.

"I am no threat to you - or to Arthur, by this oath. I am his sister - on my magic I swear it." Morgan's eyes glimmered gold, and Merlin flinched.

An oath-spell, not an attack. He tried to slow his racing blood. Eyes like his own, gold fire, like suns in a sea of darkness, and was her skin as soft to touch as it looked-

Merlin dismissed the book to a side table as his knees hit the floor, ashamed of his rudeness and his coarse thoughts. She told the truth. A princess, and his master's sister. To think of touching, taking, _demeaning_ anyone was abominable, much less her. He should know better than to think of laying so much as a finger on someone's body, having felt the pain of it himself so many times. Baring the back of his neck, he kissed the lady's hem and put his head to the floor in apology.

"Forgive me, princess," he whispered, furiously shoving the lingering image of her skin out of his head. Never, never, never. He would never be like them.

"For what?" She laughed. "You've not insulted me."

Merlin lifted to his knees with relief but kept his head down. Her hem was dirty, and tattered, and she wore heavy traveling boots caked with many different colors of mud.

"I believe you told Terence you discovered a way to fight the Dorocha?" she prompted. "My magic is useless against them; I had to transfigure myself at night to avoid their touch. If there is a way-"

She was Arthur's sister, and meant him no harm, and Terence was not afraid of her.

"Cume bóc." The book slid off the table and landed in Merlin's hands. He found the note, marked so he would not have to look at the grisly figures again, and held it up for Lady Morgan to look over.

The sorceress hesitated. "You will not sit with us?"

Merlin looked up, confused. "I am sitting with you."

She opened her mouth to speak, then shut it again and took the book. Her fingers trailed down the page as she mouthed the words. Terence leaned over her shoulder and followed her finger across the text.

"I've never heard of such a thing," the squire said as he finished.

"Will it work?" Lady Morgan asked.

"No reason it wouldn't. But Gaius would know that." Both lady and squire looked at Merlin.

"I came to ask about dragons." Merlin licked his lips.

"A sword forged in a dragon's breath." Lady Morgan tapped the words. "Even among the fey, such weapons are spoken of in whispers. It is rare for a dragon to make one, rarer still for the sword to find a wielder it likes. I shall ask about it when I return, if that stupid overgrown lizard will give me a straight answer for once."

"You've seen a _dragon_?" Merlin stared at her.

"I would call him more of an annoyance, but yes." Lady Morgan rose and turned to Terence. "If you will pardon me, Your Grace, I will let Merlin take me to my brother. He and I should speak of this."

"Of course." Terence stepped closer and put his hand on the lady's arm, lowering his voice. "You are certain, Lady Morgan? Once you choose a Court, you cannot turn back."

"I did not say I would choose a Court. Only that if Morgause brings them into conflict, I will not fight you, or Gawain, or Arthur."

Terence nodded. "Thank you, my lady."

Morgan lifted her eyebrows. "I did not say I would help you."

"No." The squire smirked, eyes glittering.

"Insufferable half-pixie," Lady Morgan muttered, but her low curtsy was genuine. "Your Grace. Please, walk with me, Merlin."

It took a moment of awkward looking for Merlin to realize she expected to be offered his arm. He scrambled to his feet and stuck the tome under his arm before proffering his left elbow. The sorceress folded both hands around the crook of his elbow; she was taller than he, but did not bend sideways. Gawain's chamber door swung open for them at a flash from her eyes. Terence headed one way down the hall with an armload of Gawain's gear, Merlin turned towards the library.

"How did you enter my brother's service?"

Lady Morgan wanted to stroll, it seemed, and Merlin felt a flash of helplessness, her hands restraining one arm, his other wrapped close around the book. He steadied himself. "My old master pay tribute to Camelot. The prince come to collect, and my old master have too little gold with him, so he offered me."

"How terrible." The lady shivered a little.

Terrible.

He remembered that day, by the fire in the hairy master's camp, naked and shuddering with cold. _Low-hanging clouds, drab light, the single man left behind languid after a few rough turns in the trampled dirt that left Merlin scraped and aching. The yellow-bearded man only wanted Merlin to kneel between his legs and swallow his lust now, and the yanking on his hair turned to gentler rubs, which promised a good enough mood that he might get the old wool shirt that the man constantly talked of throwing away._

 _"Finish off."_

 _The new voice made him startle, and he narrowly avoided biting the man._

 _"Ulf wants gremlin here for some fancy prince."_

 _Yellow-beard was not pleased anymore, and turned harsh again, making the boy choke and kicking him away when he was finished, throwing his loin-cloth at him before stomping away. No shirt, then. He knelt for his leash with no little amount of disappointment. So close… Perhaps, if he pleased this prince thing...Might it - he - have a tunic he did not want?_

 _Armor. Horses. Attendants. A prince must be rich, and he made obeisance accordingly, stayed low as they bargained his price - ten golds? That was much, too much for mere entertainment._

 _He was tribute, like the golds and the furs, and the prince was his owner. The hairy masters left, his heart beat in his throat, and he dared to beg, to explain - he knew his place, would do anything Master said, no need to punish him. The prince did not understand, but he stroked Merlin's hair, and the boy dared to hope._

 _They went to the camp where the prince and his men stayed, and one man cut off almost all his hair, and no one called for him. Then Master put him in icy water. Just when he thought he had done something terribly, awfully wrong, Master washed him with his own hands, collared him for his own, dressed him, fed him, warmed him, treated him like - like a living thing that had worth - better than the horses, even -_

"Merlin?" Lady Morgan's voice cut through his thoughts a they took the staircase down to the library.

"I would have die this winter if not sold to Master." The details were not proper for a lady's ears. "I'm grateful, very much."

"He is good to you?"

"I have clothes, and shoes, a cloak and a wolf fur, and hat and mittens, and my own bed, with three blankets. He never whip me or hit me, or make me eat scraps off floor."

Lady Morgan stumbled, yanking at his arm.

"Lady?"

"Uneven stair."

Her fingers trembled just a little on his elbow. The near fall must have startled her, and he tried to brace his arm a little more to support her. "I eat from Master's plate at meals. He wants me to read and write, and I know Greek and Latin, and the Old Language, and can learn everything Gaius and Father Joseph will teach me. And magic."

"And he still keeps you collared?"

" _I_ wear collar," Merlin replied, a deep pride swelling in him. "Because I am his."

The library door opened for them when Lady Morgan tilted her chin and glared at it, thumping shut after they entered. Master looked up from his work and blanched, pen missing the inkwell as he tried to put it down. The tip just caught, and the jar spilled across the table, the parchment, dripped black on the floor, and no one paid attention to it.

"Morgana?" Master stood too quickly, knees rigid, and his chair crashed to the floor behind him.

"Brother."

Even Sir Ector's lips were pale, and Merlin thought the knight might faint. Lady Morgan let go of Merlin's arm.

"What happened to you?" Master whispered. The siblings circled, drawing closer with each step.

"I grew up."

Tears sprang up in Master's eyes. "Yes."

They stared at each other, tips of their fingers just touching, as if neither could believe the other truly stood before them. Arthur moved first - clasped Lady Morgan against his chest and buried his face in her hair, sobs wrenching out of his very soul. The sorceress held him strongly for a moment before her back began to quiver. Her fingers clenched in the prince's tunic, and she seemed to break on his shoulder as both slid to the ground, rocking each other as they cried.

"Sir?" Merlin whispered to Ector, confused.

"By all official records, Princess Morgana died two years ago."


	19. Chapter 19

Hello, Fair Reader. This feels like such a pittance after leaving you with nothing for so long. I apologize for my absence. I've been preparing for college, and real life devours time like nothing else. To all the reviewers and followers from the last three months, thank you. Your encouragement means a lot.

* * *

No two siblings could be more delighted with their reunion than Master and Lady Morgan. They rubbed shoulders and held hands and exchanged random words that were wonderful jokes to them. The cool sorceress from Master Gawain's chambers melted into a fond and nervous sister who shyly showed Master her magic with a swirl of golden light above her palm.

He only looked at her, and whispered, " _Upáhefe_." Master's eyes turned golden, and a sheet of paper gently floated above the library desk.

Lady Morgan clasped her brother's face in her hands until the gold in his eyes faded, then collapsed between his knees, sobbing against his chest. Embarrassed, Merlin withdrew to see about building a circle to test their protection against the Dorocha.

Gaius had not only the herbs for the circle, but three brash young men fully willing to test it. They scampered after Merlin like puppies as he chose a place close enough to the castle they could make a dash for safety if the circle didn't work, and far enough away to properly test the spell. The slave boy worked until sunset, marking a circle precisely, laying the herbs, and building the circle with eager help that was more of a hindrance.

It didn't help that they called him 'Master Warlock,' looked to him for commands, and scrambled eagerly to obey when he managed to stammer instructions.

He left them with their bedrolls as twilight fell and the first howls of the dead rose from the fields below. It took all of Merlin's self-control not to sprint for the castle, and he did not breathe easy until he was safely inside.

Supper was over, giving way to a lazy evening. Dinadan had wrapped meat in a cloth and left it tucked near the fire for Merlin to eat. He stretched out on the floor with his food, flipping through one of the spellbooks from the library. Gaius set him copying his own personal grimoire as soon as he learned to write, and he added at least one spell a day. If the circle he built lasted through the night, he would copy that too, but for tonight, this simple camp-warding spell would do. He sharpened his quill and set to work, using light charcoal lines to keep his writing straight. The careful work kept his mind from the three men just beyond the castle, trusting him to keep them alive.

His hand ached when the spell was finished. He dusted the ink and put everything away, flexing his fingers. The little circle was visible from Master's window, and he cupped his hands around his eyes to see past the glare on the glass. Three lumps lay around a small fire. The Dorocha yowled through the night, but they seemed to avoid the circle. The distance made it difficult to tell if the men were dead or sleeping safely.

Merlin left the window and knelt by his master's feet, clasping his hands behind his back so he wouldn't chew off his fingernails with worry. The thought of the three men at his mercy made him want to run out with a torch and soldiers to fetch them back to safety. He breathed in, let the air out, and reined the thoughts back to a halt. The men had chosen to test the circle, and he had done everything he could to keep them safe. Nothing more was possible until dawn. Merlin let his body melt into the familiar posture as his mind slid back into simpler courses. Had Master eaten? Was he comfortable? Thirsty?

His lord was content, so he was content. Merlin leaned against Master's leg and huffed a sigh when Master started grooming fingers through his hair. His hands clasped comfortably in his lap. Lady Morgan shifted with obvious disapproval, and he started when her voice echoed inside his head.

 _You let him treat you so? Like a dog? I shall have words with him._

 _Don't._ He fumbled with the mental communication, unable to form words to send to the lady. Merlin chose feelings and images instead, showing her the contrast between the fear and humiliation he felt before, and his happiness now.

 _Very well. But if he harms you, I will put him in his place._

Merlin's amusement at her fervor frustrated Lady Morgan. She snapped their mental connection with a grimace.

"What do we know of the spell?" she asked Master out loud.

"The spirits of the dead have come back. They may only haunt the land at night." The prince shifted as he thought. "They fear fire, and if Merlin's research is correct, they cannot pass over a circle. The travelers claim they seem stymied by running water as well, and must find a bridge or still pond before crossing. During they day, they rest in graves, marked and unmarked."

"I visited the Isle of the Blessed before I came here." Lady Morgan rubbed her palms against the arm of her chair. "Morgause closed the Veil. I have no options for you, brother. I must admit I returned to die at your side."

"I hope it will not come to that." Master settled deeper into his chair, tracing absent patterns over the back of Merlin's head. Merlin stayed still, knowing his master was deep in thought.

"Now that Merlin's found us a way to move people safely, I intend to take a Great Quest."

Lady Morgan went pale. "It has not come to that."

"It has. I see no other way of finding a way to defeat Morgause."

"Why you so afraid?" Merlin whispered to Lady Morgan.

"A Great Quest is sacred," she replied, without taking her eyes off her brother. "Once taken, it cannot be abandoned. It ends in either success or death."

"As will our present situation if I do not go." Master's voice was almost a rebuke, and Lady Morgan sighed.

"Then I shall pledge myself to the Quest as well."

* * *

Dinadan slunk in after Morgana left, head down. Gaius had approached Arthur during supper to gently suggest that Dinadan serve in the prince's chambers instead of the physician's. Dinadan took the change as a sign of Arthur's displeasure and responded with frightened groveling. Merlin lifted his head when the other ventured close and shifted, as if to show the other there was room for him too.

Arthur pressed Dinadan's head down against his other knee as Merlin relaxed and let his palm rest on the blond hair until he could not feel the servant trembling anymore.

Both boys would have to come with him. Morgana too - she was too stubborn to be left behind. Her appearance still left him reeling. He remembered an angry girl, flinging shoes at their father, shrieking that she was not a slave or a brood mare to be sold to the highest bidder.

Uther sent her to King Urian's court in chains, and Arthur did not see her again, only mourned her death and tried to forget.

He was glad beyond measure to see her alive.

Merlin yawned, and Arthur asked to be readied for bed. Merlin and Dinadan worked together with awkward care and many murmured questions between the two of them. They stayed out of each other's way - barely - and tended him with gentle pride. He thanked them both, and did not go to bed himself until they had washed and changed to their nightclothes.

Silence drew over the room after Merlin and Dinadan slipped away into the little alcove where Merlin slept. Arthur thought he heard low whispers, and was about to go to sleep when he was woken by a belch and giggling. The uncouth sound was repeated, slightly longer this time, and greeted with muffled snickers and the sound of flopping.

Hesitant silence, breathy laughter, and then a noise like a sick boar.

Merlin appeared thoroughly amused by his own skill.

"You'll wake our master," Dinadan whispered, voice trembling with laughter.

Arthur grinned, gulping air, and opened his mouth to let the sound go free. His two servants went quiet immediately - and they should be impressed by the length and volume. The prince settled smugly into his pillows and listened, contented, as the two boys nearby laughed at their own defeat and settled in for the night.


	20. Chapter 20

_**Sorry I haven't been replying to reviews! But hey, I made you wait less than a month for this one. And you get a scene I cut from an earlier chapter attempt that finally got a place to fit. Yay!**_

* * *

Merlin rolled out of his blankets as soon as he woke the next morning. Dinadan still slept at his side, sandwiched between Merlin and the wall and drooling a little. Pale pre-dawn light just lit the room beyond the curtain. Master sprawled under his blankets, one arm hanging over the side of the bed. Merlin shoved his feet into his boots without bothering with socks or changing from his nightclothes. He had to know what happened to the three young men outside the castle walls. Dinadan could care for their master, and he could return with breakfast.

The fire was down to embers. He coaxed it up enough to light a candle for his small lantern. He shut the door of Master's chambers without a sound and dashed through the chilly halls, lantern swinging from his hand.

Damp air swept across Merlin's skin as he entered the misty courtyard. Flat gray light deadened the torches, and the eastern sky held a soft hint of gold. The gates were closed. A guard turned sharply as he approached, blocking Merlin's path with his halbard.

"Going out, slave?"

The guard loomed, and Merlin just managed to hold his ground. "I plant circle last night. Three men out there, and I go to see if they are alive."

"Can't even talk straight," the guard sneered to his companion, who looked away uncomfortably. The guard turned back. "Git back to the castle." He shifted the halbard, and the point settled close to Merlin's forehead.

Merlin's fist clenched on the lantern handle, and he raised his chin, gathering his words. "I belong to your prince, and am on his business, and you will let me through."

Their eyes locked. Merlin's stomach squirmed, but he planted his feet. A good slave could only obey one person, and he need not follow any of these guard's commands. None of them would dare to harm their prince's property, or hinder him in obeying his master. One was already shuffling to open the gate.

"Fine." The guard backed away. Merlin made for the gate and was stopped by the halbard across his chest.

"You bolt, or I find out this wasn't your master's business, and I'll hook that pretty collar of yours to the hitching post and flay your skin myself." The guard jerked at the strip of leather with his finger, making Merlin stumble. He caught himself and ducked under the portcullis at a brisk walk.

Thick mist crawled across the farmlands surrounding the castle. The sun peeped over the hills beyond, making tall gray shadows of the trees along the river. Merlin forged across the clods of freshly turned earth, wet with dew and mist. The air glowed with fresh light, birds hopped among the furrows, chasing fat worms, and the rich smell of river and land and morning filled his nose.

Three lumps lay inside the circle he had forged. A little fire smoldered at the center, drifting threads of smoke that vanished into the fog. Merlin's heart caught in his throat. They were all so still.

One shifted, the young man rolling over with a grunt and burrowing into his blanket. Merlin stepped over the circle and bent over the second, who curled on his side, breathing deeply. The third seemed nothing but blankets that moved gently up and down with each breath. A smile broke across Merlin's face. The Dorocha had not come within the circle.

The sun stretched its rays across the sky, lifting free of the yonder hills and casting them all with bright light. The young man who rolled over scrunched up his face. His eyes flickered open, landed on Merlin, and he swore, startling up out of his blanket. The other two woke at the sound, tangling themselves in their bedrolls as they struggled to orient themselves. Merlin froze, bewildered, and he and the young man stared at each other.

"You?" The man seemed to have trouble forming his thoughts this early in the day.

"I think?" Merlin hesitated. "Which you do you want?"

The man grunted, rubbed his hands over his face, and pinched himself. "Master Warlock?"

Merlin nodded, cringing at the title. The sunlight hit the man full in the face. He grumbled and turned out of his bedroll, staggering to his feet and pulling the wrinkles from his clothes.

"Someone kill me before I do that again," he grumbled.

Merlin's heart sunk. "It not work?" He hung his head, staring the flattened grass. They were alive - he had done that much.

"No!" The young man tripped on his blankets and grabbed Merlin's shoulders. "It worked. It worked brilliantly. They couldn't touch us." His face broke into a smile, as if he were just understanding it himself.

"They couldn't touch us." With a triumphant whoop, the man boosted Merlin up on his shoulder with one hand and sent a rude gesture in the general direction of the forest with the other. Merlin reeled and clung to the man's head for balance as he pranced back towards the castle, his two friends shouting close behind.

Screams of delight greeted them as they capered through the gates. Castle servants and guards ran to greet them first, then the guests and refugees, all in an ocean of bodies that surged upon them with the crashing eagerness of high tide. Merlin blushed furiously as his dangling feet and shins were clasped with gratitude. He kept interrupting himself trying to reassure everyone that yes, he would tell them how to make the circle for themselves, and no, they did not have to possess magic to do it.

When the young man finally set him down, it was Master who grabbed his elbow while he got his balance. Merlin looked up at his prince, who smiled, warm and proud.

* * *

Master announced his intention to take a Great Quest after breakfast, and everyone wanted to go with him. The knights declared their willingness to follow their lord into Hell itself. Lord Pelladur fell on his knees, hands crossed over his chest, and asked for the privilege of redeeming his honor at Arthur's side. Dinadan clasped his master's legs so hard the prince nearly fell over and begged not to be left behind. Even Lady Isobel declared her intention of following the prince, and levitated three tables and Kai when met with protests.

Master Gawain only met Master's eyes with a nod, Terence tall and silent at his shoulder. They would go where he would, even as Merlin did.

"I cannot take you all!" Arthur cried.

Lady Isobel realized what she had done and set the tables and Kai down very gently.

"The only reason I can take such a quest is because I will leave good men behind."

Leon opened his mouth to protest, and Master held up a finger.

"I will not announce any names until after my vigil."

The announcement silenced them all. Merlin wondered what kind of vigil his master would hold. Leon seemed to know, because he bowed his head to his lord and backed away, silenced.

* * *

Arthur spent his day avoiding the people of the castle. News of his quest spread quickly, as did the desire to accompany him. The prince distracted the people with Merlin, whose spell of protection against the Dorocha was in high demand. Gaius steadied the boy, and Dinadan fetched and carried for him as he scribed copies of the process and taught the people how to identify the herbs used. Three caravans readied themselves to move out, sending the castle into uproar as friends and lovers parted, fought, or declared their intentions to remain with the other.

Merlin was worn and frazzled by the time he escaped to Arthur's chambers that night. He settled on a pillow beside the fire and ate some cold venison out of Arthur's hand between yawns.

"I come with you on quest." The boy yawned again and closed his mouth on another chunk of meat with a happy grunt.

"I would welcome it, but my companions are not up to me."

"Spell." Merlin started to speak around a mouthful of food and stopped himself to swallow. "Remember, I tell you. Spell inside of me - dangerous if I go from your side."

"You can't remove it?"

"All tangled. Most times, I don't want remove it." Another massive yawn. Merlin patted Arthur's leg. "Good master."

"Do you think I could look at it?"

Merlin blinked at him, eyes soupy with exhaustion. "Don't know." He paused. "Lots people today. Not treat me like slave."

"How did you like that?" Arthur had grown comfortable with their relationship over the winter and could barely imagine his life without the slender boy attending him. Still, it would be selfish and wrong to keep him confined.

"Like not be shouted at. But - people think magic do anything for them. If I freeman, they bother me all times." Merlin smiled at him. "You make good excuse."

Night descended fully, pricked by campfires of the merchant trains testing their defenses. The screams of the Dorocha left Merlin agitated, and he paced in spite of his dragging steps, staring out the window and muttering to himself in his own language. So many people trusted him with their lives, he explained to Arthur, and he had so little education. What if something went wrong?

Arthur's comfort fell on deaf ears, and he resorted to command, sending Dinadan to sleep in the alcove and nesting Merlin in the huge bed beside him. The boy tossed and sat up, flopped down again, and nearly fled the bed to correct every imagined mistake until the prince ordered him still. The enforced quiet let the boy's body take the rest he needed, and Merlin relaxed, then curled around his pillow as sleep took him.

Arthur tucked the blankets around Merlin, coaxing him to snuggle deeper into the mattress. He wanted to check for the spell Merlin spoke of, and needed the boy quiet and pliant. His conscience twinged at doing this without Merlin's permission, but he did not dare risk touching a warlock's core when the boy was awake and rested. The prince had no doubt that Merlin's magic would defend him against someone trying to get at his core, and his reaction at full strength hurt them both. It might even now, but the spell that bound Merlin to Arthur could prove deadly to him, and it had to be eliminated.

The prince found his core and jabbed himself painfully a few times probing the golden coil of power before he found a thread anchored in his core and extending towards Merlin. Arthur followed the thread hand over hand until he ran into the blazing globe that was his slave. He could feel the submerged power inside the boy's core, froze when it noticed him, lifting to guard its sleeping wielder.

 _Hey_. The prince kept as much distance as he could without breaking contact.

 _Master._

Merlin's core quieted instantly, dropping its wards to let him touch it. Sparks trailed off the edge, and it trembled at the contact.

 _You have a spell in you?_ He asked it.

 _Yes. Here._

The globe turned, malleable power reforming to show the spell's location. Arthur's head ached from the focus required to see the magic, and he gritted his teeth, willing his mind to stay connected to its task.

He felt Merlin gasp when he prodded at the spell. The boy's core did not resist, although sparks still quivered off it. A bundle like tangled vines of fire revealed itself, and he saw the oath, wrapped up in itself, roots driven deep into Merlin's core.

The prince ignored his aching mind and reached for his own core. His power was a mere thimble-full next to Merlin's ocean. Arthur let it tangle into the oath, curious as a hunter crouching over fresh tracks. Merlin rolled to his back and arched with a low howl. His arms wrapped around the prince's shoulders, and he clutched at Arthur's nightshirt. Low, frightened pleas reached Arthur through their connection, stronger than the whimpers he heard.

Merlin was not in pain. Arthur still made a point of being gentle as he grasped each thread of the oath and identified its purpose. They were esoteric, guided by feelings rather than incantations. One thread burned darker than the others, speaking of death. Arthur dove along it, bursting free from the tangle to see where the thread was burrowed into Merlin, waiting to plunge through his core and into his heart.

Both of them shuddered as Arthur secured his hold on the dark thread. Merlin's pleas stopped, and his core softened, frightened but yielding. Arthur's head throbbed, and his insides ached. He sent a feeling of apology at Merlin before infusing his own power into the thread.

Darkness spun behind his eyes, terror and pain, and flashes of gray/blue memories shot with red and white. He grappled it, the thread bigger than his power, his small magic the better fighter, more determined. A spark flew free, the thread faltered, and he emptied himself, tearing the thread into pieces and ripping them into fluttering bits of ash. Merlin hung on, fingernails drawing blood from Arthur's shoulders, and the prince focused on the pain as fire burned through his bones.

Something inside Arthur ripped apart. His eyes flashed open. He saw Merlin under him, sweat streaming down his temples. The bed canopy rolled in front of his face, and Merlin screamed his name in alarm just before his world faded black.

* * *

Master's eyes blazed golden, turned black, and fell shut. Merlin tumbled them over as the prince went limp and dropped on his lord's chest, searching for a heartbeat.

There. And a pulse. Merlin slumped with relief and clutched at his heart, gasping. No master had ever touched the core of his power, much less meddled with it. It left him reeling, like someone brushing their fingers across his soul. Master's magic was still buried in his core, ripping at the thread. He threw himself backwards on the bed and clung to the blankets as he waited for his blood to stop racing. Dinadan stumbled out of the alcove, sleep-shirt awry.

"What happened?"

Merlin moaned in reply. He was fairly sure he had goose pimples on his insides. Master's spell finished its work, checked him for damage with gentle touches, and melted away. Merlin rolled to kneel prostrate as Dinadan climbed onto the bed next to him and touched his back.

"I'm okay," he muttered.

"He didn't hurt you?"

Merlin shook his head. "Check Master. I think him knock out."

The termination threads were gone from where they waited to wrap around his heart and stop it. If anything, the threads that bound him to his master were stronger, though probably not by Arthur's intention. The sharper sensations of their contact were gone now, leaving behind a peaceful sense of belonging.

"Merlin?"

Dinadan's voice trembled, and Merlin lifted his head.

"His eyes are black."

Merlin scrambled across the bed and pulled Master's eyelid up with his thumb. His eyes were pure black, void. He lunged down the connecting thread between them, crashing into Master and meeting empty darkness.

No light.

No core.

He shrieked in horror at the sight. The cold and darkness must hurt so much. He dumped a little of his own magic into the smoking hole to refill Master's drained reserves, overflowing the tiny space, trying to reconstruct what ought to be there. It found nothing to attach itself to and returned to him, leaving the space cold again.

"Alright, Merlin?"

Merlin returned his thought to his body, lifting on his elbows to see Master's gray face. Eyes - eyes blue.

"Did it work?" the prince whispered. "Is it going to kill you anymore?"

Tears brimmed up in Merlin's eyes. "You burn out, Master. You burn self out and I cannot fix - no core there."

"As long as you're are safe." He ran a hand over Merlin's head. "I'm a warrior, and there wasn't much magic there to start with."

Merlin shifted to his knees, kissed his master's hand, and pushed it against his forehead. The amount of magic didn't matter - his Master had given every shred of what he had, and Merlin wasn't certain if he could ever be grateful enough for it. Dinadan breathed a sigh of relief, and Master flopped his hand at both of them. "Go to bed. I'm tired."


	21. Chapter 21

Morgan braced herself over her scrying basin, teeth clenched. _The undead poured out of Camelot like vomit; Morgause draped herself on Arthur's throne, guards at her back, slaves at her feet, jewels crusted through her hair and on her lips._

 _"Go to Cladborough, Captain, and bring me my nephew and his pet."_

Vermin. Morgan's fingernails made half-moons in the wood of the table. She slapped the water to change the scene. _Dark - drapes still drawn - just candlelight and a fire. The lord still lolled in his bed, dark ecstasy on his face as he surveyed his cowering bedslaves._ Morgan ignored him, searching the room for identifying marks. Her head ached with the strain of holding an unfamiliar place in her view. Something moved, sharp, sudden, and her eyes drifted back to the shadowed bed where the lord took his pleasure. The slave he held struggled, begged, submitted, out of sheer hopelessness and terror-

Morgan slung the bowl across the room with a scream, her magic swirling in her veins. The water spilled across the floor as the bowl landed, quivering on its base with a metallic rattle. Arthur would fight for honor, not revenge, but sometimes, vengeance must be taken. She would draw the spells for this herself. She would sing under the linden tree on a half-moon night and write the names of her enemies in stone and iron and their own blood.

But one must not light her casting fire too soon. Morgan took a deep breath. Gawain and Arthur must ride today, like it or not. She would manage the contingent from Camelot.

She strode through the halls and shoved Arthur's door open. He sprang to his feet, sword half drawn, Merlin a second behind him with a shielding spell flung before his master. Dinadan yelped and sprawled backwards in surprise.

"Morgana!" Arthur slumped back into his chair. "What's gotten into you?"

Morgan shut the door and gave Merlin a smile before turning to her brother. The slave boy blushed furiously and hung his head, and her magic tugged towards him. She let it flutter curiously and put her hands on her hips.

"You must leave today."

Arthur blinked. "What?"

"Morgause has dispatched a contingent to visit Cladborough. If you are gone, we won't have to hide you."

"We?"

"I will remain to guard the castle." Arthur started to protest, and she held up a finger. "Not by force of arms, Arthur. Morgause must ignore us, not enter a pitched battle that would destroy all your allies before you even had hope of victory."

Arthur stood. "You won't be safe here."

"Morgause will not begrudge me a half-ruined castle. She will begrudge me my brother and her son. You must go."

"Where do you suggest?" Arthur leaned back against the table, half teasing, half curious.

"On your quest, brother! Where else?"

"I haven't held my vigil-"

Morgan waved her hand. "The vigil is a formality. You have your quest."

"My companions-"

"Take your boys. And Gawain and Terence. And Isobel." She stuck her finger in Arthur's face when he started to protest. "The last thing a young enchantress needs is Morgause's talons on her. Make for Castle Avalon; you'll find help there."

A smile tugged at the corners of Arthur's lips as he tried to glare at her. "I might remind you, sister; I am technically king."

"You can always ignore my advice and die, though I hardly think you that stupid." She turned her attention to Merlin. "Go on and start packing; he will decide to go eventually. Say goodbye to me before you ride, brother." She kissed Arthur's cheek and left him gaping behind her. Gawain next, or Ector?

She found the lord of Cladborough watching his son spar with Gawain.

"Princess." He dipped his head as she approached.

"Morgause has dispatched a contingent to search Cladborough for Arthur."

Ector's lips thinned. "When did they leave?"

"She commanded it less than an hour ago; I doubt they have left Camelot yet." She stood tall at the knight's side. "I believe you would agree with me that attempting to hold the castle against her would be futile."

"And if we wish to protect our young king?"

"Arthur is leaving on his quest as soon as he can pack. I am sending Gawain with him."

Ector lifted his eyebrows. "With his brothers?"

"I can disguise two small boys. They would hinder the quest. But for what else I intend, I will need your help."

"I will assist you as I am able, my lady."

Merlin hauled himself into the saddle, leaning over to pet the horse's neck. She side-stepped with the shift in his knees, and he froze.

"You're her partner, Merlin, not baggage." Terence grinned at him. "Prince Arthur didn't teach you to ride?"

"Only with him."

The squire leaned out of his saddle to stroke Merlin's horse, muttering to her in a language Merlin did not understand. "She'll stay with us." The horse shook herself, and Merlin tightened his knees and his grip on the reins.

Lady Morgan strode over to their small party, decked in court finery and trailed by two pages Merlin did not recognize.

"The contingent from Morgause will be here sometime tomorrow." She took Arthur's horse by the reins and rubbed foreheads with it. "Carry him safe, you."

The horse whickered.

"You're certain you'll be safe?" Arthur asked.

"Kai will be with me. Ector and his manservant are in the dungeon, already putting on a good show of languishing - they've swords and a spare set of keys, in case."

"And my brothers?" Gawain demanded.

"Do you recognize them?" Morgan smiled at her pageboys, and Gawain's eyes widened.

Terence surveyed the two. "You cast a good glamour."

"Does it work on your pimples, cuz?"

Morgan slapped Gawain's leg and turned to Isobel. "Get training in Avalon, if you can; but be careful who you take it from."

"My father was alive last I saw him…" Isobel trailed off.

"I will ask if I can do so without raising suspicion. But do not hope. Take care, little sister."

Merlin startled when Lady Morgan put her hand on his knee, and his horse picked up its feet until she caught its reins. "Merlin. You are a warlock, and there is fire in your blood. Don't act like a whipped dog." She squeezed his knee and pulled a ring from her finger. "There's a glamour in this that makes the weak-minded or unobservant see you as you want them to. It did not fool you for a moment, though I think you sensed its power when we met. Take it."

"I-" Merlin felt the power even now; it was too rich a gift.

"I command you. You know it is dangerous to be a slave." She put the ring on his finger, and Merlin did not stop her. A quiver passed through him, and the green stone winked in the sunlight.

"Thank you, Princess."

"I do not need to ask you to keep my brother safe, but look to yourself too when you must."

"I will." He felt her touch on his knee long after she took her hand away.

They rode north, keeping to the road among the thick woods. Arthur pushed them hard and did not make camp until full dark, several leagues from Cladborough. A new-built stone circle shielded them from the howling Dorocha, and Terence built a casting fire and drew on Merlin's power to cast spells to ward them from unfriendly eyes and keep the horses calm.

Gawain and Terence led them the next morning as clouds rolled out of the west. Merlin saw a glimpse of the sea from the top of a bare hill, and then they plunged into broken gulches full of dripping, moss-covered rocks. The misting rain turned to thick fog at midday, blotting out the sun, and odd shadows passed over them, as if from wheeling birds.

"How close?" Gawain called to his squire, his voice echoing around them.

"Close and far," Terence replied. He gave Arthur an apologetic smile. "We're headed in the right direction, but I don't know when we will pass between the worlds. The gateways aren't fixed, and won't always let you find them."

Isobel shifted her cloak closer around her shoulders. "How can you find anything in this fog?"

"In Faerie, you find by looking." Gawain looked around at the thick gray mist. "The fog doesn't matter."

Their gorge widened out a little, and they paused to water the horses and fill their waterskins at a pool fed by a narrow waterfall. Something moved in the shadows behind the falls, and Merlin saw a woman, dark-haired, with white skirts tinged blue that blended with the frothing water and a belt green as the ferns surrounding the pool. He was knee deep in the pool before he blinked again and saw only a tall rock wreathed in moss.

"Merlin!" His master called, and Merlin turned around, cold and confused.

"What are you doing?"

"There was…" He looked again and saw only the rock. The water laughed at him. Master watched him from the bank, hood thrown back, worry drawing his brows together. "…a lady?" Merlin felt idiotic and started to slosh back to the bank.

"There's only a rock." His master grabbed his hand and helped him out.

"Were you frightened of her?" Terence asked earnestly.

"No."

Gawain glared at the rock, then Merlin. "Be honest: did you jump in there because you wanted to make love to her, or she to you?"

The cold fled as Merlin blushed hot and ashamed at the thought. "No!"

"You're certain."

"Yes!"

Gawain and Terence turned from their fierce contemplation of the rock.

"You think something is there?" Arthur asked.

Terence shrugged. "We're on the edge of Faerie."

"Are we safe?"

"No. But not threatened, Sire."

They turned back to the horses and saw Isobel, staring at the waterfall, as still as a woman carved of stone.

"My lady?" Arthur whispered.

She turned her head to look at Merlin, eyes glazed with wonder and fear. "She called me sister."

They walked their horses down the stream, drenched in rain and fog. Merlin felt more than saw the cliffs beside them, revealed only when a moss covered outcropping hung out in their path. He saw the woman twice more, her face staring at him from the water, hair spilling across the rocks, before it was his own face, the reflection framed by algae that waved in the current.

The air grew darker - or the fog thicker - and the horses walked belly-deep in the water, picking their slow way along the current. Terence was a hunched outline at the front of the group, pushing on as the wind picked up, shoving Merlin's hood from over his face and ruffling his wet hair. Fog blew off the water's surface in tendrils. Merlin twisted in his saddle and saw nothing but open water all around them, roughened by the wind.

"Terence!" Arthur yelled. "What in hell-"

Merlin saw the squire's face in the first flicker of lightning. "We're close, Sire!"

"We're in a damn lake!"

"You can only cross in water!"

Merlin felt the wave but never saw it, only the purple flash of lightning through the surging water and the bubbles the streamed from his mouth and clothes. Merlin followed them up, clawing for the surface. The noise of the storm broke as his ears cleared, and he got a gasp of air, a glimpse of familiar shadows reaching down for him, before the waves folded him under again.

He struggled in a tossing void, clothes dragging him down, water forcing him up only to slap him under again. Merlin lost track of the bubbles, his small path to the air above, and thrashed. Something hit his back, and he surfaced again into a roaring world under a lighting-cut sky. The water threw him forward, and he hit a rocky shore belly first. The current drug him back a moment, then slung him up the beach again like so much driftwood.

Rain spattered down as Merlin lay among the water-polished logs, aching. Thunder still grumbled somewhere far off, but the sky was lighter, with a few edges of blue peeking through the deep clouds. The bird chatter sounded like early morning. Merlin pushed himself up to survey a barren lake-shore for as far as he could see. No master. No companions or horses. Only Merlin, for the first time he could ever remember, completely alone.

* * *

 ** _A/N_**

 _What happened? Well, college happened. And a whole lot of other life. Also, Merlin and Arthur weren't too keen to leave Cladborough (thanks for helping get the ball rolling, Morgan). You have stuck around, and I thank you for that._


	22. Chapter 22

Arthur kicked free of his stirrups and dove after Merlin as the waves rolled the boy under. The lake could not be deep, but he sunk a long time, chasing the swirl of Merlin's cloak. The boy turned, their outstretched fingertips brushed, and then Merlin melted away in soft speckles of light. Arthur lunged desperately, and his feet hit bottom.

He pushed upright, spitting water, chest deep next to his horse with Gawain's hand on his shirt collar. Lightning flashed.

"He's gone, vanished!" Arthur yelled over the storm.

Gawain yelled something back that was lost in the roar of the storm, still holding Arthur upright.

"What?!"

"Did you see Isobel?!"

Merlin's horse stood close and shivering, saddle twisted to the side, but Arthur saw no sign of Isobel or her mount. He pulled away from Gawain and plunged under the water again.

He saw only the lake bottom, fish, and driftwood turning in the rough current. Arthur floundered ashore, Dinadan holding him up with fistfuls of cloak and clothing. Brief bursts of lightning lit the lake, and the rain battered them mercilessly.

They called up and down the shore as the wind blew itself out and the vague light of dawn lit the angry clouds, but no one answered. Arthur finally returned to his horse and leaned his head against the saddle, fighting tears.

Stupid. Pointless. Merlin was so tough, and a damn lake-

He bit his lip and shoved back his tears. He would not grieve for a boy who was not dead. "We'll make camp here."

"Sire." Terence's eyes were full of compassion. "Merlin would not want you to give up your quest."

"He and Isobel may have come ashore elsewhere." Arthur glared at the squire, who backed down. "We will wait."

* * *

The imps thought the lord careless. They brought Morgan his hairs, his toenails, blood, even two scabs. She mixed them with a raven's feather, her casting fire bright beneath her cauldron, a sullen half moon overhead, curses strong on her lips.

His name glowed bright - blood on cold iron nails driven into the earth beneath the embers. Morgan could not attack Morgause - the witch's emissaries departed Cladborough unsatisfied and suspicious. She could not help her brother while he walked in Faerie unless forsook her duty here and went to the otherworld herself. But she could avenge the little warlock who offered his service so humbly and without thought for himself.

The fire winked out, curses finished. Morgan gathered her cauldron, washed it in the stream, and made her way back to the castle, lantern held high against the dorocha's lunges.

* * *

Merlin sheltered under a great stone on the lake shore for three days, cold, lost, but not hungry. He always gathered too much food - some for him, more for his master, his master who was never in camp when he returned because he was alone. He reached for bedrolls and saddlebags and found only stones, leaped up at the sound of his name and saw only birds and squirrels. He could see every part of the lake shore from the top of his rock when the mist lifted in the afternoon. No one moved on the other banks, no tendril of smoke drifted above the trees. Merlin knelt and prayed to Master's God morning and evening for someone to kneel to and felt pathetic for it, but what did a servant do with no master to serve?

The sound of hooves on the rocky shore roused Merlin from his third afternoon slump next to the fire, and he sprang up, heard lifting. He had waited, and Arthur had found him. Perhaps that was what he should have done: looked for his master. Merlin rounded the rock, ready to break into a run, and skidded to a halt almost as soon as he started.

A nobleman sat on a milk-white horse, dressed in purple brocade draped in a blue cape lined with red silk. A short, neatly cropped beard. Jaw and nose and eyes that anyone would call noble if they didn't know how cruel this one could be. Merlin pinched himself, and the nightmare remained, smiling, first with curiosity, then with recognition.

"We know each other, don't we?" Not-master walked his horse closer.

Merlin's skin prickled under the man's raking gaze. The voice, his native tongue, the thousand images that came with them blurred his vision, and he caught one hand against the rock.

"How beautiful you've grown. I never would have turned you loose if I'd known you would fill out so prettily."

The horse crowded Merlin against the rock, and not-master's riding crop slid up Merlin's throat, tilting his head back and forth, caressing his lips. He couldn't breathe until the animal stepped away.

The rock. So solid. Very real. A natural tower that kept anyone from creeping up behind him.

"Strip, pet. Let me have a good look at you."

Merlin rubbed his sleeve across his face to push away the tingle of the crop. The rock stayed solid under his hand, and he lifted his head. Not again. Never again.

"No."

Three horses shifted on the rocky shore. Merlin's line of sight widened out a little, and he saw two mounted guards blocking both lines of escape.

"Do I have to let the boys play with you a bit first?" Not-master smirked. "You know how much you hate that."

The rock pressed warm against Merlin's back. Lady Morgan's ring clicked against the stone, and he remembered how to breathe again. "Leave me alone." Merlin's voice cracked on the last word, then dropped into a growl. "I don't belong to you."

Not-master burst out laughing, and the familiar sound made Merlin's blood run cold all over again. He swallowed and tried not to be sick. Not-master turned to his two guards, still chuckling.

"You know how many times I screwed this one in the ass before he broke? Once." Not-master laughed again. "Just once and he was lapping my boots. By the fourth time he knew how to beg for it - and he's a pretty beggar too." He turned back to Merlin, eyes like ice. "You remember how."

They locked gazes, and Merlin did not breathe, but he kept his head up, his eyes up, his back straight. Not-master shrugged.

"Merek, backside. Gorv, I'll want to hear him later, but take his mouth for now." Another kind of smile slid onto not-master's face, and he hooked his knee around the saddlehorn. "Entertain me."

The guards dismounted, grinning, and Merlin's mind went blank, then returned, calm. The guards disarmed themselves by their horses, relaxed, unready for combat. Not-master slouched, comfortable, leering. And magic, magic like bright light and fire burned at Merlin's fingertips.

Merek and Gorv stepped past not-Master's horse, and Merlin held up his hand. Morgan's ring winked in the sunlight, and Merlin felt himself change a little. The two men hesitated, then bore down again, crazed lust in their faces.

Power flew from Merlin's hands, caught Merek in the chest, spun Gorv's head all the way around on his shoulders. They flew back, and their bodies skidded in the rocks and sticks and dead leaves. The horses snorted and danced away. Not-master nearly fell from his saddle.

"You golden-eyed beauty," not-master whispered. He dismounted, eyes fixed on Merlin. "How'd you hide _that_ little treat?"

"It wasn't yours." Merlin kept his feet planted as not-master came closer.

"I can do what I like with those beneath me, sweetling. You remember whats it's like - beneath me."

They were almost nose to nose. "You are a devil out of hell itself."

"I'm going to-" The man choked, spat mud, and choked again. Merlin edged away as vile smelling sludge poured out of his mouth again and down the front of his clothes, splattering on the ground.

"You're a rot sorcerer if this is all you can do." Not-master shook his head, spitting to clear his mouth. "Go on. I'll spit it on your face this time, let you have a taste of your own spells."

Merlin glanced at his hands. The magic crouched, poised, but he could swear that the sludge-vomit was not his work. He stared at no-master, confused.

"Heh. Get a mouthful this and you'll be begging for me to-" The sludge spewed forth again, and not-master lunged for him, hands clawed. Merlin struck out, his magic lifting not-master all the way off the ground and flinging him back against the rock. The man hit with an ugly thump and dropped to the ground, limbs askew, eyes wide and unblinking.

The tension in Merlin's chest let go in a rush, and his legs folded. He sat for a moment, breathing hard, then burst into sobs.

* * *

 _ **A/N: Whew. I've been waiting a long time to write that scene. Yes, Merlin and Arthur will reunite soon, but this was one thing I knew Merlin needed to face on his own. It's back to college for me tomorrow, with hopefully some writing time and not another year-long wait. Thank you for all the lovely reviews, and for reading! You are all wonderful and encouraging.**_


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